


Day Zero

by foxdeer



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Slash, Bittersweet, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Slow Build, Soul Bond, i want to hug them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxdeer/pseuds/foxdeer
Summary: When an elf reaches full maturity, a small number appears on their inner left wrist. The number counts down the amount of years until the day you meet your soulmate, transferring to a number of days at the beginning of the final year.The short story of Haldir and Glorfindel.





	1. 927 Years

The soft light of hundreds of candles illuminated the gardens in the lower part of Imladris’ valley. A group of celebrating elves had been outside all day in the glorious summer sun, enjoying the bonding of two elves, each from the noble stock of Imladris. During the ceremony, they had all been seated upon rows of white chairs, and the aisle was lined with white roses that led to a small stage which elevated the couple above the crowd. The backdrop to their ceremony was the dazzling waterfalls of the realm. For what it was worth, Lord Glorfindel could not recall a time when he had been to a more beautiful wedding.

The bride herself was dressed in an ornate silver gown, her brunette hair braided into a half-crown with small yellow buttercups weaved between the folds of the braid. The rest of her hair fell to the small of her back in gentle curls. She glided effortlessly towards her awaiting husband, ignoring all those who had come to see their wedding. This look was common amongst those getting married, but it was never something that Lord Glorfindel could understand. The couple always seemed in another world – their own one, perhaps – and each guest was merely a spectator to the love they had created.

The ceremony had been short, and by contrast the party had been long. They were well into the evening by the time Lord Glorfindel took a seat with his wine, the chairs now surrounded large circular tables from the wedding breakfast. The wine was red and flowing. Most of the guests were beyond indulged – in particular, Glorfindel noted, the twin sons of Elrond who were nowhere near majority but pushing their luck. Still, merry guests meant frivolous dancing, and Glorfindel could not blame them for relishing in the occasion under the stars. It was too fine of an evening to waste.

A movement to his right caused Glorfindel to look to see who had joined him, as Lord Elrond took a seat beside him. Glorfindel rarely saw Elrond in any colour other than gold, purple or brown, so it was refreshing to see him in a light blue for this day. Glorfindel had chosen navy – his favourite colour – as it seemed to offset the gold of his hair. 

“Something is different about you this evening, Glorfindel,” Elrond observed, taking a long sip of his own wine. “If you would indulge me, I would like to ask what the problem is.”

Glorfindel laughed heartily. It was always Elrond’s way to be as discreet as possible whilst being as equally as intrusive. Perhaps intrusive was a little harsh – curiosity may have been a better way to sum it all up. For Elrond was not wrong. Glorfindel had been in a strange funk since the wedding had started, and it had carried on until well into the reception.

“It is nothing,” Glorfindel assured him, looking into his cup, “too much wine, I fear. The ceremony was beautiful. I wish them well.”

“Indeed,” Elrond smiled indulgently, as they watched the newlywed couple dance amongst their friends and family. “These days can be bittersweet for some.”

Glorfindel knew what Elrond was alluding to, but he was not about to give his Lord the satisfaction of knowing he had hit the nail on the head. Of course this day was bittersweet – it was for all those who had yet to finish their countdown, or for those who knew their love was in Valinor awaiting them. The mark on Glorfindel’s inner left wrist seemed to burn at the thought. 

Inscribed on his wrist was a number, no bigger than a centimetre and black in colour. Each elf was given a number once they reached majority. It was said that the Valar placed it upon them, a countdown of sorts to the moment you would meet your one – your soulmate. Every elf would awake on the morning of their majority and find there a number, and with the change of every year it too would change, until the number was one. Upon the beginning of the final year, at the dead of winter, only then would the years finally turn to days. Again, the countdown would begin to the very day you would meet your love – the day the elves termed: day zero.

Lost in his thoughts, Glorfindel was only pulled back to reality by the twins’ arrival at their table. They swayed a little from the wine even when seated, yet they still had two goblets full in front of them.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Elrohir smirked teasingly. The only way that anyone other than the closest family and friends told the twins apart tonight was by the colour of their dress – Elrohir in red, and Elladan in a deep green.

Elrond sighed, eying them both with disdain. “We were not gossiping – we were discussing the bonding ceremony.”

However the look that Elrond shot at Glorfindel, and the resultant atmosphere whereby Glorfindel was deep in thought, meant that the twins did not believe any of it for a second. Elrohir narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly across the table, his hand on the edge to steady himself.

“Is your countdown almost at zero then, Glorfindel?” Elrohir hissed, but his attempt at whispering did not mean he was necessarily quiet. At that, Elladan laughed.

“I am afraid not,” Glorfindel smiled at them indulgently, because they appeared to find the notion hilarious. “I believe that mine is broken.”

At that news, the pair of them immediately ceased their laughter. They looked awkwardly at Glorfindel, as though gauging whether they had offended him or not. After all, it was considered a very private matter to some. Many elves chose to wear items of jewellery to cover their number, and long sleeves were always considered an appropriate way to maintain one’s modesty. It was not considered polite conversation to simply ask somebody whether their number was zero, unless yours was zero itself and you had felt a connection. 

“Is that even possible?” Elladan questioned, his frown full of concern. He looked from his father to Glorfindel for reassurance. “What is your number?”

“Elladan –“ Elrond began in a tone of warning.

“What?” Elladan snapped back. “I asked politely, and Glorfindel doesn’t have to tell me if he chooses not to.”

“He’s not telling us because it’s like four thousand years,” Elrohir giggled.

The twins began to laugh again. The alcohol had clearly addled their brains, and Glorfindel had a feeling that the two of them would have giggled at the most mundane of topics in that state. Generally he had felt it was a good idea to allow those under majority to begin to build their alcohol tolerance, but for the twin sons of Elrond, the troublemaking that would ensue later that evening was bound to cause their father to consider locking them away for life. No doubt there would be many a prank set this night ready for the morning.

“Rather it is closer to a thousand,” Glorfindel told them.

Their laughter seemed to die a slow death once they saw that he was serious. As much as he would like not to admit it, Glorfindel had checked the number this morning. It was nine hundred and twenty seven. Four thousand may have seemed a ridiculous number to the twins, but equally just shy of a thousand seemed bad enough. Glorfindel had known that today would be a day that he would check, where he would linger on those stupid digits etched into his skin. Whilst the number was counting down, all those years had never seemed as long as they did when celebrating a couple who had already reached their day zero and their love was flourishing because of it.

“Damn,” Elrohir mumbled. “It is broken.”

There was an awkward silence where no one agreed or disagreed that Glorfindel’s number was incorrect. As heavy as the mood felt at their table, the guests to the wedding were finding every reason to continue their festivities around them. It felt as though their table, with its morose atmosphere, had suddenly become separated from the celebrations. 

“I think you could both help Lindir to set up for his final performance,” Elrond instructed, in a tone that implied there was no other option.

The twins nodded, downing their goblets and leaving them on the table. Glorfindel watched as they headed over towards Lindir, who was struggling to set his harp in the correct position, their heads bowed together as they undoubtedly spoke about the dire situation that was Glorfindel’s countdown.

“I apologise on their behalf, Glorfindel,” Elrond muttered. His eyes also followed his sons as they went to Lindir’s aid. “I had not thought they would be so inappropriate.”

“Really – you need not,” Glorfindel told him earnestly, smiling softly at his Lord. “Curiosity is not a sin.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, each taking periodic sips of their rich red wines. The couple were now facing Lindir, awaiting his final performance of the evening before he headed home for the night. The hour was late, and Glorfindel felt the heavy feeling of exhaustion it in his bones. There were a few moths floating around the candles now, the rest headed for the white light of the full moon. 

The crowd fell silent as Lindir began to play, his fingers drifting methodically across the strings of his harp. The music was light and romantic, but equally there was something in the undertone that made it just as Elrond had said it would be – bittersweet. Moments like this were when Glorfindel felt most alone. He wished to share in this with somebody, but he had so much time to fill before that person was supposed to show up – if they were even to show up in the first place.

“You truly believe it is broken?” Elrond whispered to him, as Lindir began to speed the tempo. The newlyweds were enamoured with him – the bride’s head rested upon the groom’s shoulder as they watched.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I have lived a life unlike any other on Middle Earth. I see no reason for it to be correct. I cannot remember my number in my past life, but it is likely it has only mimicked that.”

Lord Elrond nodded, though whether this was an acceptance of his theory or his pessimism at never finding love, Glorfindel was not sure. The music of Lindir’s harp came to a natural finish, and the uproar from the crowd was well-deserved. Clapping, Glorfindel stood to his feet along with the others.

“I will retire for the evening, I think,” he said, leaning down slightly so that Elrond, who remained in his seat, could hear him over the clapping and whooping. 

“Sleep well, Glorfindel.”

Although a quick escape would have been much preferred, Glorfindel was not anything if not polite. He thanked the couple for allowing him to attend their bonding ceremony, and left the lower valley, ascending the stone steps towards the halls of his home. His heart felt heavy. Another wedding – unquestionably the most stunning yet – had been and gone, and whilst he was happy for all those that had found love and happiness on this Earth, he continued to feel bitter and dejected that the same courtesy was not granted so readily to him.

For Lord Glorfindel had told Elrond and his sons the truth. He did believe that his countdown was broken, and he did truly feel that all it did was mirror the one from his past life in Gondolin. Though, his countdown that time had not felt so long. It was nowhere near as long as nine hundred years. As he turned the corner down the echoing corridor to his rooms, he felt so disconnected from that past life. He had not lied. He did not expect love at the end of it all, when he had already known what day zero felt like.

Quietly, Glorfindel opened the heavy oak door to his room and closed it behind him. He leant against the wood, resting his golden head upon it. The room was dark, yet it was strangely comforting. Thanks to the maids, his bed was already turned down, awaiting the moment he could climb into his comfy bed and rest and sleep…

He went about the motions as if on autopilot. He removed his tunic, folded it on the chair he always used to hold his laundry. His leggings went next. From the top drawer of his beautifully-carved maple chest, he grabbed some loose bed clothes and hurried himself into them. They were slightly chilly, but it felt soothing against his skin. In front of his mirror, he brushed out the tangles from his golden hair. 

When he finally climbed into bed, he rested back amongst the pillows but he could not get comfy. There was something nagging at his brain. Or rather, someone. For Glorfindel felt a pang in his heart on days like today – not only for what he felt like he was missing – but because he knew what it was like to have that kind of love before. The kind of all-consuming, dedicated, committed love of the newlyweds he had witnessed today. He felt a burning in his throat and willed himself not to cry. 

“You will feel better by morning,” he mumbled to himself, turning over to face the floor to ceiling windows, as if turning his back upon this feeling and his problems. He gazed out onto the midnight blue sky, watching the shining lights of Varda. “You will feel better by morning.”


	2. 652 Years

It was Haldir’s third time at the border of Lothlorien since he had joined the Galadhrim. When he was younger, Haldir had listened to the stories of the soldiers when they returned from their periods away, mesmerised by the thought that one day he could join and complete his own stretches at the edge of Lothlorien too. He envisioned slashing orcs, riding his horse heroically through the trees and saving damsels in distress. However, the childish imaginings of being a protector of his people had not compared with the reality of life at the border. 

The reality of the border meant long, lonely nights where not much of anything happened. Often there would only be one or two elves for company, as there wasn’t realistically any further space for more than a few elves per watch-talan. Each talan had a small amount of medical provisions for emergencies, and just enough space for them to lie down or play cards with one another to pass the time. But the most important part was the way the small wooden hut effortlessly blended into the grey branches of the Mallorn trees, hidden amongst the yellow and gold leaves.

The night of this watch was just like any other. Haldir had been at the border for close to a week, staying in a watch-talan that was further inland from the border than those stationed on the outer edge. He had been ordered here with another young recruit, Faeldir and their mentor for their shift at the border, Curuven. Although Haldir rather liked Curuven – he was logical, dedicated to his work as a soldier, and explained their duties in thorough detail – it was clear that he had taken a shining to Faeldir and the younger recruit’s hopelessness. Admittedly Haldir still had much to learn too, but he was finding his feet rather quickly in comparison to his peers.

On a few occasions, Faeldir had been downright dangerous. Haldir had already been forced to stop him from almost firing an arrow at another Galadhrim, who had approached their talan deep into the night. Faeldir claimed that he had thought the elf was an orc, despite the fact he was light of foot and had used an imitation of a bird’s whistle to signal his arrival. At this Curuven had praised Faeldir’s enthusiasm, though Haldir felt passionately that the younger recruit should have faced at least a scolding for being too eager and reading all the critical signs incorrectly. However, all Curuven did was ruffle Faeldir’s black hair affectionately, and told him that next time it would be an orc and he would inevitably land the shot. Haldir could hardly believe his ears.

“Next time, you should be more prepared, Haldir,” Curuven told him as he tied his own silver hair into a single braid. “Faeldir was alert and ready – that’s how you need to be.”

Haldir did not necessarily disagree with Curuven, but equally he felt as though he should protest that it was not a bad thing to wait before firing. Plus, there had been those vital signs that concluded it was most certainly not an orc. Still, the event had settled deep into Haldir’s thoughts, and he found himself becoming increasingly fed up with Faeldir’s ineptness. His frustration only seemed to mount further at Curuven’s repeated excuses for Faeldir’s mistakes. 

The three of them sat on the ledge of their talan, mostly in silence. Intermittently one of them would say something just to pass the time, but their minimal conversations did not seem to break the monotony of a night on the border where nothing happened. Unlike his childhood fantasies, Haldir found that most evenings ended with nothing to report. Instead, Haldir watched the stars, vaguely listening for any movements below. In spite of this all he heard were the small animals of the forest going about their business. 

He had spent so long engrossed in the sound of an owl, that he did not notice that Faeldir and Curuven had struck a new conversation. Haldir seemed to tune in halfway through.

“So, when you met her you just… knew?” Faeldir asked, his bow laid across his lap as his legs hung over the edge of the watch talan’s ledge. He was looking intently at Curuven, his brows knitted together in a confused frown.

“Oh definitely,” Curuven nodded, his eyes glazed over in memories. “It was like I had never seen an elleth in the same way that I saw her.”

Faeldir nodded, his face enthralled at Curuven’s story and his eyes wide with something Haldir could not recognise. The younger elf looked away after a while, fiddling with the bow on his lap, tightening the string.

“How did it feel?” Faeldir eventually asked him.

The elder sighed heavily, but not in an exasperated way – perhaps as though walking in daydreams. 

“Different, I suppose,” he finally replied, his voice low. “I just instinctively knew that it was her, and I could tell that she felt the same way about me.”

Haldir looked away from them. They were back onto love stories again, and he found these awkward for many reasons, but particularly because he felt that they were private. Love was not the business of others – it was a conversation reserved for the two people who felt that way about each other. Haldir was certain that Curuven’s wife would not have enjoyed the retelling of their love story to a complete stranger. Alas, most recruits spoke about such things at the border. Not all was as heartfelt as this – some were undeniably crude – but somehow Haldir found it easier to deal with the indecent tales than he did with the heartfelt. It was not the first time that Haldir had suffered through the sickly-sweet tales of Curuven. They made his cheeks burn, yet Haldir could not work out why. Often he thought it may have been some form of second-hand embarrassment at telling such a soppy story.

“And it was on the day when you reached zero?” Faeldir asked him. “Both of you?”

“It was – I could hardly believe it,” Curuven laughed to himself. “I remember when I reached the end of the year countdown. Knowing that I was at one year, and that as soon as I woke up I would know how many mere days it would be until I met them… it was exciting and terrifying all at once.”

Subconsciously, Haldir fiddled with the left sleeve of his Galadhrim uniform. His eyes were fixated on the stars, however they watered uncomfortably as he chose to try to ignore the conversation between his fellow soldiers. Unfortunately, try as he might, his ears were no longer tuned into the movements of the forest animals. All they heard was the conversation between Curuven and Faeldir, as though no other sounds existed.

“I am not near to one year yet,” Faeldir spoke, his voice evidently disappointed. He looked down at his wrist, pulling back the sleeve to see his number. “I’m still on twenty four.”

“Could be worse,” Curuven told him, patting the younger recruit’s shoulder lightly. “You could be over three hundred.”

Haldir’s heart jumped anxiously in his chest – it appeared to be beating at an alarming speed. It was always like this when they spoke about that damned countdown, and the curse that was the number. Standing from the talan’s edge, Haldir turned to Curuven.

“May I rest a while?” he asked, though his body language implied that it was not to be taken as a question. “I feel I need a moment to refresh.”

Curuven nodded, looking strangely at Haldir as if he wished to say something further, but he simply settled on: “Of course. I will wake you when it is time for your watch.”

Respectfully, Haldir bowed his head, hurrying into the talan. The palpitations of his heart slowed slightly, but not enough to make him feel comfortable. He headed quickly to his backpack, rolling out his bedroll and unfolding his black travelling cloak with ease. As he settled down onto his makeshift bed, hoping that he might fall asleep, he could hear the conversation continuing outside. Haldir felt a little better now that he did not have to feel like they were watching him and that he did not have to face them.

“Did that happen to you?” Faeldir asked, his voice a little quieter now that Haldir had retired.

“No - it is incredibly rare,” Curuven answered. “Most have met the elves they will marry rather early in their lives. Some will meet in as little as three years.” 

The conversation paused for a moment before Curuven continued. Haldir’s heart would not slow its rapid, frantic beating. 

“I cannot imagine having to wait that long for my soulmate – over three hundred, I mean,” the elder said. “It must be terrible. Now I have found her, I can’t believe I ever suffered one hundred and forty years without her.”

Turning to face away from his fellow recruits, Haldir rolled back the sleeve on his left wrist. He had covered his number with a little piece of skin-coloured tape. Gently he picked at the corner, peeling it back and revealing a number that he had not looked at for decades, but he already knew was disappointing.

652.

Any other would claim that they could scarcely see the number on his wrist through the inky darkness of the Lothlorien border, but the numbers seemed to burn themselves into Haldir’s retinas. There was a reason he kept his number hidden, and it was because it was so embarrassingly high. As Curuven had said only moments earlier – most elves had met their soulmates very soon after their majority. Some even woke up on the morning of their majority with mere days to wait until they timed out at zero, and met their Valar-chosen lover. 

Haldir’s heart felt heavy. He had not removed the piece of tape for a long time, and yet the number was not as low as he had predicted it might be. Without wanting to look at the disgrace of such a number any further, he pressed the tape back down to his skin and rolled his sleeve firmly down his left arm, as if to cover his shame. If one thing was fortunate, it was that it was considered a social faux-pas to ask anyone of their number. It was such a sensitive subject that Haldir was not alone in choosing to hide it.

The sound of Faeldir’s chuckle floated in from the edge of the talan. “The Valar really chose that well?”

Haldir did not need to see Curuven’s face – he heard the smile well enough in his voice. “I do not want to brag, but I think she is perfection.”

Faeldir laughed lightly. The young recruit only had twenty four years to wait until he met his own ‘perfection,’ until he longed for the arms of his lover whilst he was stationed away on his duties for the Lothlorien army. However, Haldir felt that his incredibly long wait would not be worth it. How was it fair to make him wait so long and yet everyone he knew had so little time that they barely had to blink and there arrived their lover? Sighing, feigning it as sleep, Haldir pulled his travelling cloak above his head and tried to drown out the sound of their conversation, his self-hatred and pity, and the number that had branded itself into his vision.

“Well… I hope this countdown hurries up,” Faeldir replied shortly after. “I could do with someone to think about whilst I am at the border.”

“It will come, and when it does, you will know,” Curuven told him softly. “It is a love like no other.”


	3. 291 Years

“Are you ok? You seem different this morning.”

Haldir peered across the dining table at Orophin, who looked slightly clammy, his skin pallid and grey. He had not touched any of the vast spread of food that Haldir had placed on the table – fresh fruit, toast, a few pastries, tea, coffee, fresh juice and some fried eggs. Every week or so the three brothers would get together at Haldir’s flet, and spend a morning breaking their fast with one another. Obviously, given the fact that all three brothers were in the Lorien army, it was not always the three of them. However, it always offered Haldir a bit of respite from the many duties of being Marchwarden, and honestly, he rather enjoyed their company now that they no longer lived together, tripping over each other all of the time. 

Normally Orophin would have eaten his third of the share of food, and Rumil’s combined if he was even slightly late as he was that morning, but instead he looked as though his lips were clamped firmly together in a feeble attempt to stop himself from being sick. The more Haldir stared, the greener his complexion seemed to become. There was a definite tinge of dark circles under his eyes, as though he had not rested well. Furthermore, there had been many instances so far that morning whereby Haldir had attempted to engage Orophin in conversation, and he did not give the impression that he was listening at all, let alone his bare responses.

Before Orophin could answer, Rumil blundered in through the front door to Haldir’s flet. Dressed in his grey and navy Galadhrim robes, fresh from his latest month-long shift at the border, Rumil bounded over to the table throwing his cloak messily onto Haldir’s favourite armchair and grabbing a wooden chair at the table. He said a quick hello, hardly noticing that Orophin was clearly unwell, and began digging into the food in front of him without hesitation. It was only when it finally dawned on Rumil that there was too much food on the table, especially given his late arrival, that he took a glance in Orophin’s direction.

“Valar, what happened to you?” Rumil asked, his mouth full of eggs.

Orophin glared slightly at Rumil, but it was clear by his face that whatever was bothering him was not even worth snapping back at his brother over. At his brother’s strange behaviour, Haldir poured him a tea and pushed it in front of him.

“You can tell us,” he assured him, adding an extra sugar and stirring it on Orophin’s behalf. “We are your brothers – we won’t judge.”

Haldir’s words bolstered Orophin’s resolve. He took a big gulp of his tea, sighing wearily, and glancing between his brothers. With the next deep breath, he steeled himself. The other Lorien brothers awaited the news eagerly – Rumil had even stopped eating. A strange feeling of foreboding overcame Haldir. It was as though he already knew what Orophin was going to say before he said it.

“Today is… you know…” Orophin mumbled, briefly glancing at Haldir.

“Day zero?” Haldir offered, his voice sounding a little strained. 

Orophin nodded. It had been as Haldir had thought, but bizarrely, this was not how he had assumed that Orophin would handle it. For some reason, Haldir had always thought that Orophin would be delighted, excited, and raring to meet the love of his life that the Valar had chosen for him. In contrast, he sounded as though he was doomed. Of course there would always be feelings of nervousness on your day zero, or at least, this was how Haldir had always assumed he would feel. Yet the anxiety was so palpable, coming off Orophin in waves, that Haldir felt anxious on his behalf.

“How will I know if I meet them?” Orophin muttered. He stared down into his tea. “What if I don’t meet them?”

Rumil chuckled lightly, continuing to eat his food, though Orophin did not find anything remotely amusing about his situation.

“What is so funny?” he snapped at his younger brother.

“You,” Rumil grinned, sipping on his fruit juice. “You are so melodramatic.”

Orophin scowled. “How is what I am feeling at all melodramatic?”

Rumil rolled his eyes, shaking his head at his brother. “Orophin,” he began, “you have nothing to worry about. I am sure you will meet them, and that it will all work itself out. Trust me – it is obvious who is destined for you. You… kind of… feel it with your whole being. It’s hard to explain.”

Haldir had heard many people discuss how it felt to meet your lover on day zero, but Orophin looked at Rumil as though he was the only person on Middle Earth to go through it. Clearly the guidance of Rumil was being absorbed like a sponge into Orophin’s psyche.

“How did it feel when you met Elladan?” Orophin quizzed, subconsciously downing most of his tea, to Haldir’s satisfaction. 

“I’m not sure I can describe it,” Rumil shrugged, buttering some toast. “It was just so… intense. I knew it was him. I don’t know why, but I did.”

Orophin leant back into his seat. He looked slightly disappointed at Rumil’s answer, as though it wasn’t enough of a reassurance anymore, therefore he promptly went back to overthinking. Haldir could see the anxiety mounting on his face. He felt happy for Orophin deep down. It was nice to think that today he would meet somebody special, and that their family would welcome a new partner. It had been strange when Elladan had entered the mix, but gradually the sons of Elrond had become akin to siblings to the three Lorien brothers. If they had lived in Lothlorien permanently, Haldir was certain that they would have been invited to their weekly breakfasts.

“Look at it this way, Orophin,” Rumil told him, placing a buttered slice of toast onto Orophin’s plate for him. “What is the likelihood that more than one elf or elleth has timed out on the exact same day as you?”

“That’s true,” Orophin nodded again, picking up the toast, but not willing to take a bite.

“You will know, brother, I promise,” Rumil smiled.

Noticing that the pot of tea was empty, Haldir gathered it and headed into the next room to make another. He was happy for Orophin. This was an exciting day. He placed the tea bag in the pot and filled it with boiling water, sprinkling a few mint leaves in to add a bit of extra flavour. The chatter between his brothers carried on next door, and Haldir took a moment to collect himself before heading back to the table. He was happy for Orophin. This was going to be an exciting day.

Yet why did he not feel that? Why could he not stop himself from thinking about the damned number that was tattooed into his wrist? Unconsciously, he fiddled with it under his sleeve. It still had a little piece of tape over it, as it always did. Haldir did not always want the constant reminder of the years he was set to be alone. Unlike his brothers, of course, who had not suffered half the time that Haldir had. 

Finally pushing his selfish thoughts aside, Haldir made the vow to embrace Orophin’s day zero. He would be supportive, just as he had always assumed he would be. Happy day; exciting for Orophin; was the mantra that went through his head over and over. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Orophin,” Haldir announced as he walked back into the main room of his flet. The two brothers stopped their conversation to look at him, as he placed the teapot in the middle of the table. “Just treat it as a normal day.”

It was clear that Orophin and Rumil’s discussion had been enough to restore Orophin’s appetite. As soon as Haldir took his seat, his brothers were back to loading their plates with competitive amounts of food. Haldir was often surprised that there was anything left for himself. His brothers ate with such a speed that it was rather unnerving. Soon nearly all of the food was gone, and the brothers lounged back in their chairs, picking up the remaining pieces of fruit and pouring the last of the drinks for each other.

“Has your countdown ended?” Orophin asked. It was evident that he had attempted to make his question come off as a flippant remark, however a thick silence quickly descended upon the dining table. The atmosphere had transformed from relaxed to tense within a few mere words.

“Orophin,” Rumil chided, though his tone was not stern enough to conceal his own curiosity, “it’s rude to ask people that.”

“If I can’t ask my brother, who can I ask?” Orophin snapped back, fixing his stare on Haldir. “Well, has it?”

Even though it was only Rumil and Orophin, Haldir felt as though the whole of Lorien was awaiting an answer. He felt suddenly very hot, and at the same time a little angered that such a question could be asked of him. After all, he alone was aware of the problem with his number. In fact, his two brothers had probably engaged in many whispered conversations about how he was alone and how strange that was. The whole of Lorien had, and his position as Marchwarden meant he could never escape it. They thought that he didn’t hear the things that they said about him. They thought that their words and their stories didn’t upset him – not their stoic, unemotional Marchwarden – but sometimes the reminders that he was not like everyone else were challenging to bear.

Haldir hesitated, schooling his face into his best unreadable expression. He took a deep sip of his tea, hoping that it would flush away any stutters or mumbles. Confidently, he finally replied: “As Rumil said, the question is private.”

However his indifferent answer seemed to confirm, even to his own ears, that there was something wrong with his number. Rumil looked at Haldir curiously, but Orophin’s was closer to pity. Haldir could not bear to look at them. He could not stand to see their faces, so he took to cutting an apple into slices to distract himself.

“Has your number frozen?” Orophin finally broke the tension. Haldir glanced up, confused.

Rumil answered for him. “Frozen?”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing about it from one of the other elves at the border,” Orophin replied, biting into his own apple. “Your number can change or freeze. If your soulmate dies, it freezes in place,” he took another bite, “and there’s even a rumour that it can go up if the Valar decide to grant you with another soulmate.”

“That’s a bunch of lies,” Rumil dismissed, frowning at his middle brother.

“It isn’t!”

As usual, the pair began to argue back and forth about whether the rumours Orophin had heard were true. Though the image of a frozen number could not be shaken from Haldir’s mind. What if this had happened to him? Would the Valar be so cruel? Try as he might to pay attention to the argument of his younger brothers, Haldir’s thoughts were stuck under the tape on his left wrist. He had not looked at the number for easily over a decade. What if he peeled it back and revealed that his number remained unchanged from the last time he looked?

“So, what are you going to do with your day then?” Haldir cut across their argument, trying to overlook the worry that was brewing in his stomach. “How do you plan on meeting your soulmate?”

“I don’t know,” Orophin shrugged. “I guess I’ll let the day take me wherever the Valar decide I’m going to go.”

“Great,” Haldir stood, picking up the empty plates on the table, “you can help me at the stables then.”

Reluctantly, and with a lot of moaning that his true love would not be horse, Orophin agreed to help Haldir work out a few rotas with the stable-hands regarding the use and safety of horses at the border. For nearly his whole time helping, Orophin spent it moaning and complaining. They helped to muck out and feed a few of the horses, and Orophin spent a rather long time with a pregnant mare. Haldir could hear him muttering softly to her about the upcoming birth of her foal, which he did find rather endearing. Despite this, the manual labour of cleaning out the stables and helping the stable-hands to prepare food was a pleasant distraction from the thought that his number was potentially frozen in place.

Eventually, a few hours spent at the stables was too much for Orophin to bear, and Haldir silently agreed. As a means to say his thanks to his brother for helping him out, Haldir suggested that they stopped by the bakery in the main town market. This seemed to appease Orophin enough that he practically dragged his brother through the busy market and towards the small bakers shop run by a local family. 

As they entered, the Lorien brothers were greeted with the most delicious smell of freshly baked bread. Haldir would shop nowhere else for his bread for this reason alone. The two brothers were the only customers in the shop, and there was nobody behind the wooden countertop, however the glass cabinet was filled with many tarts, pies and buns. Orophin was busy inspecting the lot, torn between what he would choose as his reward for helping Haldir with the horses. Haldir joined him shortly after, a loaf of bread hooked under his arm, himself lost in a particular strawberry tart that looked mouth-watering.

“My apologies – I did not realise we had customers!” A sweet voice said, and the pair looked up from the goods for sale.

Then it happened. Instantly. Haldir could hardly describe it. One second his brother was engrossed in what cake he was going to buy, and the next he was engrossed in the maiden before them. Her silver-white hair fell in gentle waves – the pieces that were not braided out of her face whilst she baked – and her green eyes sparkled when they landed on Orophin. Her face was cute, a small button nose, a few faint freckles across her complexion and dark eyelashes and brows. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. At no point had she really paid one moment of attention to anything but Orophin.

Haldir had never witnessed the moment before. He had never seen two people meet on day zero, yet here they were. It was as though Haldir was invisible. They spoke effortlessly – the pair asking whether the other was at zero, and Haldir noted that neither were embarrassed or reluctant to reveal their number. It must have happened, he concluded. Orophin must have felt that thing - that moment - that everybody spoke of. Eventually they arranged a date later that evening, and Haldir waited patiently for the opportunity to buy their goods. However, delighted that her daughter had found her ‘one,’ the girl’s mother insisted that the two brothers took their wares and more for free.

“The Valar are just… incredible,” Orophin gushed as they left the bakery after at least an hour of Orophin arranging a date with the girl – Araswen, her name – and meeting half of her family.

“You have only just met her,” Haldir reminded him, feeling astounded that his brother was so enamoured so quickly.

“I know!” Orophin grinned. “But when you know, Haldir, you just… know.”

The same old notion. The way that everyone described it. It was strange to witness, Haldir thought. The way they looked as if they had known each other a lifetime, as if they were naturally gravitating towards each other all this time. Haldir left Orophin near to Rumil’s flet, as he was too excited not to inform his younger brother about his destined lover and all of her glorious features. 

Laughing, Haldir left him to it, returning to his own empty flet. It felt too big without both of his brothers, which was ironic given that they had hardly fit in there by the time they all made the decision to live separately. Haldir placed the bread and pastries in his kitchen. The silence filled the space. He found his eyes rested on his sleeve, on that tape, on the thought of the number underneath it. What if it was frozen? What if he never had the moment like the one he had seen between Orophin and Araswen? 

Closing his eyes, Haldir pulled the tape back from the number. When he had finally gathered his courage, he took a quick peak.

291.

It was still counting down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update may be slightly earlier than planned! I am also considering writing an extra chapter for this as I'm not completely happy with the ending. Anyway! Thanks for reading :)


	4. 87 Years

Lord Elrond’s study was simply magnificent. There was a rumour, which Glorfindel felt held a huge basis in fact, that the Lord of Imladris possessed every book that had ever been made in Middle Earth. Given the extensive, intricately carved bookshelves, it was clear to see where this rumour had begun. Lord Elrond’s study held big leather-bound encyclopaedias in every colour, thin books that appeared no longer than a few pages, incomplete diaries and manuscripts, and on the topmost shelf piled precariously, a pyramid of scrolls each held together with an array of string and ribbon.

Lord Elrond sat behind his mahogany desk, a tray full of letters and invoices was full upon his desk. Upon his desk too sat a few bottles of ink in both green and black, a stick of purple wax and his seal stamp, and a large steaming mug of herbal tea. The Lord of Imladris was heavily engrossed in a long letter consisting of many pages, his brow frowning as he read. After a few short minutes, he sighed and placed the letter carefully down upon the desk before grabbing his own spare parchment and beginning to write a response.

Lord Glorfindel, on the other hand, had turned down the offer of a hot drink – not because he did not want one, but because he was currently dozing and had been when the offer was made. He slumped in the burgundy chintz armchair, his golden hair spilling over one side as he rested his head upon it. He had promised Lord Elrond a few weeks ago that he would help out with these duties as Erestor, who would normally help Elrond to answer his mail, was training a new servant on how best to greet visitors and maintain the exemplary hosting reputation that Imladris was famous for.

There must have been something in his conscience that jolted Glorfindel awake. He could see that Elrond was deep in a reply to a letter, so he quickly grabbed the next from the pile and took to reading it. Hopefully Elrond would not notice that he had been rather rudely catching up on his sleep, but lately he had felt that it was becoming increasingly difficult not to during the day. There was something about the night that kept Glorfindel staring blankly at his ceiling, willing himself into slumber, but never quite achieving a true rest.

As if his body was willing to give him away, Glorfindel yawned loudly. 

“Late night, Glorfindel?” Elrond asked, still engrossed in his writing.

“Sorry, yes,” he responded, feeling embarrassed and caught out at the same time. “You could say that.”

Glorfindel rubbed his eyes in order to rid the sleep from them, but it didn’t seem to help him focus any further. He looked down at the letter in his hand, and willed himself to read it. Except he found he could not, because there was an odd sensation that was distracting him. Elrond was staring at him.

“I have noticed you have had many of those recently,” Elrond said.

Glorfindel glanced at him awkwardly. “You have?”

Elrond nodded, “My friend, I am happy for you that you are throwing yourself so thoroughly into life, however I would like it if you were to keep it down sometimes.”

Not normally one to be embarrassed, Glorfindel flushed a colour akin the armchair he was in. If he was completely honest, it had not been he who had been making all of the noise and rather the young elleth he had brought back to his rooms last night. In truth, his reputation as a lothario and a casanova were well documented around Imladris and typically this did not bother Glorfindel too much. He did not usually feel the need to hide his lovers – after all, an elf has their needs and this was understood by everyone on some level. However, the longer these affairs went on, the more embarrassed Glorfindel was becoming and he couldn’t really fathom why this now bothered him. Perhaps it was because he was tired.

“Yes, of course – my apologies,” Glorfindel flushed, looking down unseeingly at the letter in his hand. “It won’t happen again.”

There were a few minutes of silence where Glorfindel stared at the same word on the page, as Lord Elrond continued with his piles of correspondence. This would have been a task better suited to Erestor, Glorfindel thought. He ran his fingers through his hair, stifling another yawn.

“I do not mean to pry,” Lord Elrond finally broke their silence. Their eyes met again. “Is there someone special who keeps visiting your quarters?”

Elrond was giving Glorfindel that knowing look he always held when he was pretty certain of the answer before it had been said. Strangely, however, this made Glorfindel feel even worse about the lady he had brought back to his rooms. For once it seemed his promiscuity was beginning to humiliate him.

“You know there is not,” he snapped, all at once feeling even worse for speaking to his Lord in such a way. “I’m sorry – I did not mean for that to come across so…”

They fell into another awkward silence, and Elrond sat back into his chair with his fingers touching as he observed his friend. There was nothing explicitly wrong with the elleth that Glorfindel had chosen to be with the night before. In fact, she was a pretty, intelligent, witty little creature, but she held no real sway other than becoming another notch on his already heavily-marked bedpost. Undoubtedly they had fun together, but something was missing. Something was always absent these days. 

“What troubles you?” Elrond offered calmly, his hazel eyes trying to read Glorfindel like an x-ray. “Clearly you are not sleeping because of it.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “There is nothing in particular,” he paused. “It is peculiar. I do not know how I feel.”

If one thing was definitely true, that was it. Glorfindel was not usually one to shy away from his emotions – he would always confront them head on. There was nothing to be ashamed of in how one felt, yet the feelings had all become so tangled that Glorfindel did not know which one was which. When he had been with the elleth last night, he had felt everything and nothing all at once. At times he had thought that she must be perfect for him, but then at other points he found himself completely disengaged from the sex they were having. His feelings were always drifting these days. They could never decide on one emotion, unless it was tiredness, but even then the feeling was frustrating as he could not sleep. 

A commotion outside gave Glorfindel the opportunity to rise from his armchair and walk away from his confusion. He headed over to the window and looked out upon the courtyard below. Elladan and Elrohir had evidently just played a prank upon the new servant, who stood covered in a white dusting of flour, and Erestor was so apoplectic at the twins that Glorfindel could see his eyes bulging as he admonished them whilst they laughed. The sun was shining beautifully outside, and again Glorfindel found himself wishing that Erestor were doing this task and it was he who would be shouting at the twins. A small smile crept upon his face at the sight of the floured servant.

“Was she your zero?” Elrond asked, and all of a sudden, Glorfindel was drawn back into the shade of Elrond’s study.

“No,” Glorfindel answered wearily, still gazing from the window. “It is at eighty seven.”

“I see,” Elrond replied, joining Glorfindel by the window. The pair looked out upon the glorious day, and the furious rage of Erestor as he continued to scold the twins. “I am not one to tell you how you should and shouldn’t conduct your business in your own time, Glorfindel, but I would implore you to trust in your number.”

“It is broken,” Glorfindel reminded him.

Elrond nodded. “So you say, and yet it still counts down, does it not?”

“It has counted down before,” Glorfindel told him, turning away from the window and returning to the letter he had read a thousand times and his comfy chintz armchair. “Ecthelion.”

“Ah, I see,” Elrond nodded, bowing his head slightly as if to give Glorfindel a moment of privacy. He resumed his seat at his desk.

It was well known by the elves that the Valar granted you one. Just one. They did not give so readily to anyone, and Glorfindel did not count himself as worthy of more than one lover. Recently he had been thinking - mostly at night when he could not sleep – that perhaps the number was not counting down to the day he met his lover for the first time. Maybe it was counting down to the day that they would be reunited. He would not tell Elrond of his theory, for fear of what that would mean. In his own heart, he knew that he may only have eighty seven years left upon Arda. He would rather spend them knowing his own fate and not burdening others with such a belief. 

How he felt about Ecthelion… well that in itself was puzzling too. He could remember what Ecthelion looked like; his beautiful dark hair, his smooth pale skin, his smile… Yet, there were many factors about Ecthelion that he could not place. He could not recall whispered words of adoration, nights of passion, days of soft touches, gestures of affection… he could not remember any of it. It was as though he knew that Ecthelion was the one he loved, but he could not place why or how or when. He did not remember their day zero. Try as he might to recall these memories, there was always a blockade in the way that separated his memory and his feelings. If his day counted down to zero now and he did find himself dying, would he even remember what Ecthelion was like and what it was like to love him?

In an attempt to distract himself, Glorfindel read the letter in his hand properly for the first time that day. He could feel the weight of Elrond gazing at him, and he was desperate for a change of subject away from Ecthelion and what his number could mean. 

“There is a letter here from Haldir of Lorien,” Glorfindel informed him. “He wishes to send some men to be instructed in swordsmanship by myself.”

Elrond shifted in his chair slightly, taking the hint that the conversation regarding Glorfindel’s broken number was now over. He took a new letter off the tall pile for himself and opened it with his silver letter-opener.

“Are you willing to do so?” he asked, his tone genuinely interested.

“I suppose I could,” Glorfindel shrugged, looking to Elrond who nodded in reply. Relieved that the change in subject had been accepted, Glorfindel continued: “He has remarkably tidy handwriting for someone so busy.”

At that Elrond laughed heartily at Glorfindel’s grin. “Sounds like our Erestor.”


	5. 34 Years

“It is lovely to have you here, Prince Legolas,” Lord Elrond announced, raising a glass of red wine into the air. Everyone else at the dining table followed suit. “It is a long while since we hosted someone of Thranduil’s house.”

Around the oval dining table sat Lord Elrond, the twins, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Erestor and of course, Prince Legolas. Given the wondrous autumnal weather, they had decided to take their dinner outside, and the table had been laid under a gazebo of white honeysuckle flowers that smelled sweet in the gentle breeze. The steady sound of the waterfalls rushing nearby complimented the soft music of Lindir’s harp, as they dined on Imladris’ finest cuisine. The dessert was presented before them – a rich raspberry tart with chocolate pastry and a blob of thick cream – and Glorfindel noted that this was far finer than they were used to on a daily basis. It was clear that all of the efforts had been made to ensure that Prince Legolas felt as royal and pampered here as he did back home in Mirkwood. 

“Thank you for hosting me,” Legolas smiled politely, bowing his head in respect. “I am sure there are many things I could learn whilst I am here in the valley. It looks magical.”

Glorfindel agreed with the Prince there. There was something about the valley that looked particularly picturesque that evening. The sun was beginning to set, and so the sky was tinged with a mixture of pinks and oranges in a spectrum of colour. The waterfalls fell in a shower of white, a faint haze of spray drifted back and if one were to look hard enough there were a few glances of a rainbow. The leaves on the trees were a variety of evergreens, oranges, reds and yellows, and they fluttered in the gentle warming breeze of the autumn’s evening. Glorfindel loved weather like this. Not only did it seem to relax his whole being, he also enjoyed the way the sunlight bounced from the gold of his hair.

There was a similar thing happening across the table with Prince Legolas and his gorgeous mane of mellow blonde hair. It was perfectly straight almost to his waist, and delicately twisted into braids he had earlier clarified as denoting his status as a warrior. His eyes were as shockingly ice-blue as his father’s, but they held a certain warmth to them that Thranduil certainly lacked. He was dressed in a formal tunic of dark green with little gold embroidery upon the sleeves in the shape of leaves. Glorfindel felt that the beautiful view of the Imladrian valley wasn’t the only thing that he found pleasing on the eye.

“My brother and I will gladly escort you around,” Elrohir grinned, filling up Legolas’ wine a tad higher than everyone else’s, “though you are not allowed to know all of our secrets.”

Legolas nodded in reply, smirking at Elrohir. “Are there many secrets?”

“Probably,” Elladan answered, downing the rest of his drink. “I’m not even sure that we know all of them.”

“Perhaps you could take Legolas riding tomorrow?” Elrond offered, standing from his seat at the table. “I am sure being amongst the trees will make him feel at home.”

“I’d love that,” Legolas smiled, looking back to the twins. “If you’re not busy of course…”

Naturally, both twins declined having any prior responsibilities to attend to, despite the fact that this was most definitely not the case. Erestor rolled his eyes exasperatedly and stood alongside Elrond. 

“I will depart for now, but you are welcome to continue to enjoy the wine and the view,” Elrond spoke to Legolas, who bowed his head again and thanked Lord Elrond for a wonderful dinner.

Elladan grabbed the last bottle of red wine upon the table, distributing it evenly amongst his brother, Legolas and Glorfindel. They sat for a while, drinking in the scenery as well as their wine, and speaking of the difference in customs between realms. It was interesting, but unsurprising, that Legolas appeared to hold his drink much better than either of the twins. The wine was famously potent in Mirkwood – it was often rumoured to be a way that King Thranduil extracted information from his visitors as loose lips sunk ships. The servants began to clear the table around them, and Lindir packed away his musical equipment and covered up his harp.

“Thank you for the music this evening,” Legolas told him, just as he was about to leave. “It was simply beautiful.”

“Oh,” Lindir blushed, flustered, unsure where to look. “Thank you, my Prince. It was an honour.”

The smile that Prince Legolas gave Lindir in return was nothing shy of radiant. Glorfindel had heard tales of the beautifully charming Prince of Mirkwood, but he had never envisioned him being like this. To be fair, the way that visitors to Mirkwood had gushed senselessly about him was rather nauseating to Glorfindel, but now he could see that their stories were not tall tales at all. They had an impressive honesty to them – it was evident that the Prince of Mirkwood was just as charming and delightful as everyone constantly assured that he was. 

Elladan sighed contently as Lindir wandered off, placing his empty wine glass upon the wooden table. He looked to Legolas. 

“It seems a shame,” he said, “to waste this evening. Perhaps we should continue elsewhere? What say you, Legolas?”

“Of course,” Legolas nodded. “Lord Glorfindel, would you care to join us? I would be grateful.”

The look that Legolas shot at Glorfindel across the table was not only offering a polite request, it was almost a demand. Obviously it would incredibly rude to decline, and curious about why the Prince was so keen for his presence, Glorfindel nodded and stood from his seat.

“I shall,” he replied. “We normally retire to the Hall of Fire after meals. There will be wine and I’m sure the twins can tell you a few tales.”

“Are they about yourself, Lord Glorfindel?” Legolas smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’m certain they can oblige,” he grinned back. Gesturing towards the corridor that led to the Hall of Fire. “If you would.”

The four of them wandered unhurriedly towards the Hall of Fire. Legolas had stopped by his rooms to bring along a few bottles of Dorwinion wine – a gift to Imladris from Mirkwood – and the potent liquid would surely go down a treat, especially with the twins. They were both eager to try it. However, Glorfindel had experienced Dorwinion wine on many occasions and was not naïve to its power. He would take particular care to limit himself.

As they took their seats in the Hall and popped the first bottle of Dorwinion open, Elrohir started: “Glorfindel wouldn’t be the first choice of topics we would go for-“

“-but we can certainly indulge,” Elladan grinned at their guest and at Glorfindel, before taking his goblet of Dorwinion from Elrohir. “There are many ways that Glorfindel has made a fool of himself in the past-“

“-and it’d be an absolute delight to tell you all about them.” Elrohir finished.

The twins took no further prompting to begin their character assassination of Glorfindel. They must have mentioned every poor and foolish decision that Glorfindel had ever made, but at least they appeared to make the Prince laugh joyously at their anecdotes. Relaxing into one of the snug sofas that were dotted around the room, Glorfindel drifted in and out of the stories of the twins, watching contently as the three young elves sat on the floor drinking merrily and laughing loudly at each story.

Glorfindel looked to the cavernous ceiling of the Hall, following the patterns of the arches and curves of the eaves above his head. The large fire pit in the centre produced a gentle heat that was enough to relax Glorfindel almost to the point of falling asleep. It was possibly the most peaceful he had felt for weeks, which was saying something as the three young elves on the floor were continuously giggling at him. They were emptying their glasses with surprising speed, but Glorfindel knew better. Legolas would be able to handle the potency of Dorwinion without issue, but Glorfindel doubted that the twins would be able to do the same. They were already sporting flushed cheeks as they stumbled over one another to tell another tale of how they had pranked Glorfindel.

The elder’s eyes fell upon Legolas for a short while. Now, there was an elf that someone would be privileged to meet upon their day zero. It was with a slightly heavy heart that Glorfindel had to admit he’d wished he’d met Legolas in thirty four years and not now. However, if his prediction about dying on his day zero were true and he would be reunited with Ecthelion, then it was a certain kind of privilege to have met the Prince of Mirkwood before he would depart these shores. 

The time passed quickly well into the night. Deep in his cups, with the twins and Legolas far deeper than he, Glorfindel made his excuses and went to retire to his rooms. The twins still had many more stories to tell Legolas, and they would unquestionably continue until the early hours of the morning. Glorfindel decided to leave the young ones to it. As he meandered through the corridors to his rooms, his eyes a little bleary from alcohol, enjoying the sound of the waterfalls as Imladris glowed in the moonlight.

“My Lord Glorfindel – wait!” Glorfindel stopped in his tracks, turning to find Prince Legolas rushing towards him. When he finally reached Glorfindel, he smiled lightly, a small flush upon his cheeks. “I hoped you did not think me rude for laughing at those tales of you.”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel told him, shrugging it off. “Everyone seems to find them amusing, but I have heard them far too many times now to find humour in them.”

However, Glorfindel’s flat tone seemed to worry Legolas. 

“I did not mean to offend you,” he muttered, genuinely looking apologetic for having upset Glorfindel. 

“You haven’t – I apologise myself, my Prince,” Glorfindel sighed, rubbing the alcohol and tiredness from his eyes. He placed a hand upon Legolas’ shoulder and gave it a small squeeze as reassurance that he had not been quite so affronted. “It has been a difficult time for me lately is all. I am tired.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Legolas asked quietly. His voice had deepened and he edged closer to Glorfindel. His eyes flickered to Glorfindel’s hand upon his shoulder. “Perhaps in your rooms? Or mine? We could get more wine…”

Suddenly it dawned on Glorfindel just what Legolas was insinuating. Admittedly it was quite the temptation – Glorfindel was positive that Legolas would be able to drive out the conflicting emotions he had regarding that stupid number and his inevitable death. However as much as he wished to indulge himself and take the Prince to his bedroom, he highly doubted it would be appropriate. It was one thing for Glorfindel to take lovers from around Imladris, but he would bet his horse that Legolas was still a virgin, and he would not be the one to cause a war between Imladris and Mirkwood over the deflowering of Thranduil’s only son and heir.

“I am flattered, but you do not need to burden yourself,” Glorfindel told him, stepping back from Legolas. The smile fell from the younger elf’s wonderful face. He was equally as beautiful sad as he was happy. “As tempted as I am, I would not face the wrath of your father.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “My father need not know. We do not have to tell a soul.”

“It isn’t appropriate,” Glorfindel told him, taking another step back. Legolas countered him, closing the distance again.

“We do not need to be soulmates to do this – if that is what you are worried about.”

Strangely, the thought had crossed Glorfindel’s mind. However it did not change the fact that young elves were susceptible to falling rather hard for those who they shared their first night with. Glorfindel did not much like the idea of Legolas explaining to his father just why he was pining to return to Imladris…

“I am certain your father would disagree,” Glorfindel eventually told him.

“My father is not me,” Legolas countered with a sharp tone. “He does not decide what I want.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows slightly, moving away from Legolas. Out of nowhere he had gone from sweet and charming to demanding and stern, just like the father he said he was not. 

“Your countdown – is it at zero?”

Legolas seemed confused. “Y-you don’t ask people about that unless… are you on zero?”

“No,” Glorfindel replied apologetically. He rubbed his forehead roughly, hoping to wipe away his social faux-pas. “I am sorry Legolas, it is late. I must retire before I say anything else that is insensitive.”

Before Legolas could interrupt him and change his mind, Glorfindel hurried the short distance through the corridor to his rooms. However it was clear that Legolas was following him, as he could hear his light footsteps rushing along behind him. Just as Glorfindel reached the safety of his bedroom door, Legolas called out to him.

“It is two hundred and seventy nine. Is that yours?”

Glorfindel sighed, resting his head against the wood of his bedroom door. “You know I am not the one, or you would be on zero, as would I.”

He took a quick glance at Legolas, who stood dejected at the other end of the corridor. Slowly he approached Glorfindel, as if trying not to startle him into leaving. As he drew closer, he mumbled: “I know. I was wondering whether you knew anyone with the same number?”

“I am afraid not, young one,” Glorfindel told him, shaking his head sadly. “Go to sleep. The years will pass before you know it.”

“And what if I miss them? What if my number is wrong?”

There was something comforting about knowing that others thought of the same anxieties as him when they looked at their numbers. Although, in comparison to Glorfindel’s situation, he felt that Legolas had little to worry about. The Valar would grant Legolas the perfect person, because it would only take perfection to be worthy of such an elf. Again there came the small disappointment that Glorfindel was not on zero this day.

“I have been reliably informed that you will feel it in your gut when you meet them,” Glorfindel told him.

Legolas looked at him expectantly, his blue eyes drinking in every word that Glorfindel said as though it was gospel and he completely believed it. “Have you met them?”

Glorfindel shook his head, looking down at his sleeve-covered wrist. “I’m at thirty four.”

“You are soon.”

Soon. He was soon. Too soon. It was a funny feeling, because it came with an unsettling amount of apprehension. Glorfindel did not know what he wished for more: a chance to finally meet Ecthelion again or an opportunity to remain in Arda and be with those he loved in a different way. Thirty four years was far too short of a time. His stomach seemed to be full of butterflies and a dead weight simultaneously. What if, after all of this waiting, he was reunited with Ecthelion and he felt nothing? What if, like Legolas said, his number was wrong?

“I would rather not think about it,” Glorfindel said finally, opening the door to his bedroom. “Goodnight, Legolas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being so shit at updating recently - my life is suddenly on fast-forward. I am currently re-writing the end of this fic to add in an extra chapter. Anyway - thanks for reading! :)


	6. 1 Year

The travelling group from Lothlorien consisted of three Galadhrim guards, their Marchwarden, Rumil and the twin sons of Elrond. The group were escorting the twins home to Imladris. Though they were skilled warriors in their own right, their grandfather would not allow for them to travel back home unaccompanied. Haldir found the gesture rather sweet. It was not the first time that the twins had stayed in Lothlorien, nor the first time that they had travelled the distance between their home and their grandparents’, however they were to be escorted nonetheless and only Lord Celeborn’s finest soldiers would be spared.

Although Rumil was as good of a guard as any, Haldir had only allowed him to come for the simple reason that he could not bear to be away from Elladan for longer than necessary. Their day zero had happened a while ago, when Elladan was not much past majority and Rumil much the same. He had followed Haldir to the Grand Talan of the Lord and Lady, complaining about how his day zero was turning into a fiasco, and when they entered into the Lord and Lady’s main room, Rumil had stopped dead in the doorway at the sight of the two twins. 

Of course, the usual day zero moment of instantaneous soulmate-attraction had happened but Haldir had not noticed at the time. He had taken his orders from Lord Celeborn and swiftly left the room, vaguely wondering in the back of his mind why Rumil had chosen not to follow him, however he did not really pay much attention to his brother’s decision. It was only later that evening, when Rumil stopped by Haldir’s talan, that he realised that Rumil had not stayed behind to receive his orders but rather to meet his Valar-chosen soulmate. 

Haldir watched them intently now as they packed away their bedrolls and other travelling gear, loading it strategically into their bags and securing it to the saddles of their horses. Their affection was adorable really, and Haldir was pleased for Rumil. However, as usual, the feeling of watching others so effortlessly and naturally in love made Haldir a little… well… jealous. Standing to secure his own bedroll to the back of his own mare’s saddle, Haldir could hear them muttering to each other nearby, even through the commotion of the group packing up their camp.

“I will miss you,” Rumil mumbled. Haldir took a quick glance in their direction to see that Rumil was blushing, staring at his feet. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Elladan hooked a finger under Rumil’s chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. “We have duties, you know that,” he answered softly, smiling sadly. “And I will miss you too – a lot. You know that. Always.”

Rumil nodded slightly. “You will visit me, yes? Not too far into the future?”

“Whenever I get the chance, my love,” Elladan mumbled back, planting a delicate kiss on Rumil’s blushing cheek. “I promise.”

Haldir looked away, turning to give his mare a reassuring pat on the neck. Sometimes he felt as though he was intruding upon their moments together, yet they did not shy away from showing everyone just how in love they were. Haldir thought that perhaps his strange feelings towards Rumil and Elladan were rooted in the idea that he was Rumil’s brother, however Elrohir would catch fleeting looks of them and smile affectionately as though he’d never seen something so adorable. 

The call was made by Haldir, and they all mounted their horses to continue their journey. Haldir sent his best recruit ahead to scout the way, and behind her followed the rest of the group with the Marchwarden at the rear. Even the synchronicity of Elladan and Rumil’s riding seemed to cement the fact that they were made for each other. The laughed at each other’s jokes, listened aptly when the other told a story, their horses cantering so close to one another that their knees would occasionally brush. How had the Valar known that they would be together? How could they trust in the absurd notion of a number that counted down upon one’s wrist? What happened to those who just didn’t ever meet anyone on their day zero? Could the Valar be trusted that much?

Deep down, Haldir knew that he would not be feeling so cynical regarding his brother’s relationship had he been riding on more than two hours of sleep. It was his own fault for taking more watches during the night than he would normally. Despite the protests of those accompanying him, he had said that it was fine. However much Haldir’s body felt heavy and ached with exhaustion, he found it difficult to switch off and sleep when he had the opportunity. 

Haldir knew the reason for his poor sleep. He knew the reason for his cynicism and his mild anxiety. The root of all his problems seemed to lie beneath that cursed piece of tape. Admittedly, Haldir did not check it often when the number had been obscenely high. However as soon as it had reached below ten, it was as though he could not think about anything else. The change from triple to double digits had been worrying enough, but the change into single digits had been a whole other realm of anxiety. 

The scenery changed around them as they cut through the hidden hill passage to Imladris. They had gone from open plains with yellowing grass to rocky uneven terrain, and the troop slowed as the horses took their time through the passage. At points it became so narrow that they had to travel in single file, yet the horses of Rumil and Elladan still appeared to be glued to one another. Uncomfortably so. 

Eventually the group of seven entered into the valley of Imladris. Haldir was overwhelmed at the sight of it. Its beauty flooded him with a strange sense of relief – possibly aided by Lord Elrond’s ring of power – and he felt a warmth that one normally feels when they arrive home. From the moment they emerged into the valley, Elrohir led the way on his black steed. They cantered softly along winding narrow stone walkways until they reached the circular courtyard outside of the main entrance to the Last Homely House. They dismounted as Erestor, his face as stern and brooding as always, descended the steps to greet them.

“Welcome to Imladris, Marchwarden,” he bowed formally, then clasped Haldir’s forearm rather stiffly. “Thank you for returning the sons of Elrond safely.”

Haldir bowed his own head in respect. “You are most welcome.”

“As if we couldn’t look after ourselves, Erestor,” Elladan commented, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. He turned to Rumil, grabbing his hand gently. “Come, Ada will be excited to see you.”

The Galadhrim guards collected the reigns of their horses and instructed the approaching stable-hands what best to do with them. The advisor glanced briefly at Elladan and Elrohir, as if he doubted their ability to look after themselves. He turned to walk inside, following Elrohir and Elladan who had dragged Rumil ahead. Haldir instructed his guards to join when they had finished instructing the stable-hands, and walked inside alongside Erestor. Up close, Haldir noticed that his skin was almost translucent as if he had never seen the sun before.

Catching Haldir’s eye, Erestor stated: “It is a shame you were not here a week earlier.”

Thinking that this was a strange thing to say, Haldir frowned, confused. “How so?”

“Lord Glorfindel was keen to speak about some strategies for protecting our Eastern border,” Erestor told him as they followed the twins and Rumil aimlessly, “alas he was pulled away on another duty. Perhaps you will meet him on another visit.”

They did not wander too far into the house before Lord Elrond strolled towards them. He was dressed in a relaxed robe of burgundy, which was the most informal that Haldir had ever seen him dressed by far. With his golden woven circlet upon his head, he walked towards them smiling politely in greeting. 

“Ah Erestor, I see you are already tending to our guests,” he said, as he enveloped Elrohir and Elladan in a quick hug. Sending a quick wink at Rumil, he finished: “He is ever the professional.”

Rumil giggled, then caught himself as he realised how offensive it may have come across to the advisor. Erestor scowled slightly, clearly not taking Lord Elrond’s comment very well. The twins grinned, but the atmosphere had suddenly become quite frosty. Haldir thought that a little formality would work wonders to distract from Erestor and his haughtiness. Perhaps a conversation would ease the tension.

“My Lord Elrond, it is an honour to see you again.”

Elrond bowed his head. “Well met, Marchwarden. I trust you will be staying for a few nights before returning to Lothlorien?”

In truth, Haldir had wished to return to Lothlorien the next morning rather than in a few days’ time. However, his eyes were drawn to Rumil, who clutched at Elladan’s hand, and Haldir found that he could not find it within himself to break his little brother’s heart. No matter how much he longed to return to the Mallorn trees and distract himself from his fate with his job, he did not want to shorten Rumil’s time with his love simply because he was selfish enough to long for a distraction. 

“If you will house us?” Haldir offered. A grin spread itself across Rumil’s face in reply.

“It would be my pleasure,” Elrond nodded, his eyes sparkling delightedly. “Erestor, could you escort the others to their rooms? I require a quick word with Haldir.”

With a gesture to tail Elrond to his study, Haldir left the others behind and followed the Lord of Imladris through the complex and numerous corridors to his home. There were some impressive tapestries hanging upon the walls; beautifully manicured flower arrangements periodically stationed along the route of their walk; and some of the corridors were simply walkways with windows that were ornate arches that opened out to the air. The views, or what Haldir could glimpse of them whilst he rushed along behind Elrond, were absolutely incredible. 

Rather shamefully, Haldir struggled to keep up with Elrond’s quick pace. He wasn’t sure if this was due to his desire to look out of every window, or because his limbs felt like lead from fatigue and travelling. Eventually Lord Elrond reached for a large wooden door, and welcomed Haldir to a room that looked like half a library and half a study. It was certainly the grandest room that Haldir had ever seen, and the sheer amount of tomes dwarfed the collection in Lothlorien. 

“Wow,” escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

Lord Elrond chuckled, gesturing to a few seats in front of his desk and insisting he take one – all chintz armchairs, two in dark green and the third in a deep burgundy. Haldir gravitated towards the burgundy, sinking down into the plush chair and feeling another wave of weariness flood over him. He knew that it would be rude to appear so tired, therefore Haldir made himself deliberately uncomfortable in an attempt to keep himself focussed. 

Elrond perched himself on the edge of his large desk, his hands clasped together loosely. “It is a shame you have missed Lord Glorfindel, he has been meaning to write to you for some time regarding a few recent assaults on our Eastern border. Something is getting too close to our lands, and I would sleep easier knowing we are protected.”

Haldir nodded his head. He knew the feeling well – the responsibility of feeling as though you were the sole protector to your friends, neighbours… even strangers. The situation must have been bad if both Erestor and Elrond were keen for Haldir’s advice. Evidently his reputation as Marchwarden must be more respectable than he had first imagined if Lord Glorfindel felt like he required his help. At the moment though, Haldir felt too tired to offer any sound advice. The chintz armchair was suddenly the cosiest thing that he had ever had the pleasure of sitting in. Thoroughly relaxed and distracted, Haldir fiddled with his left wrist as he attempted to continue some form of coherent conversation with Lord Elrond. He did not wish to appear rude. 

“I see, well I will always take his raven, should he need to send it when he returns,” he replied eventually. “I’ll have a look over your rotas for patrol later, if you would permit me.”

“Thank you, Haldir,” Elrond smiled, though his eyes rested on the way Haldir kept rubbing his left wrist. “Are you injured?”

“Oh,” Haldir immediately ceased fiddling with his left wrist. “No – it is a force of habit.”

Plus, the pale nude-coloured tape that he usually covered his number with had started to irritate him, solely because now he’d reached single figures, he was starting to uncover his number more frequently and subconsciously play with the edges. Leaning forward from his desk, Elrond approached Haldir slowly, holding out his own hand.

“May I see?” he asked politely. Haldir hesitated. “Forgive me, Haldir, but I am used to elves hiding their injuries. It is common amongst my family in particular, therefore I would rather see it with my own eyes to be sure.”

Reluctantly, Haldir handed over his wrist. “I assure you its fine,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

After all, this was the first time that Haldir had ever shown his number to anyone. Normally it remained covered under the tape, even when Haldir bathed. He only ever changed the tape in the privacy of his own home, when no other was present to see what number he was on. It would have been easier to erase it. He would have preferred that really. 

Yet Lord Elrond looked at Haldir’s wrist with the stare of a healer, and not one who was curious to spread rumours about the reasons why Haldir was alone after all these years. As gently as he possibly could, Elrond peeled back the tape. There was a minor red rash from Haldir’s subconscious scratching and persistent touching, but clearly it was nothing to worry about. Elrond ran his finger gently over the number on Haldir’s wrist, his brow knitted together as he inspected his irritation. In his head, Haldir repeated a mantra to himself; a reminder that Elrond was a professional, a healer, that he was only looking for injuries and not… well… gossip.

Elrond removed the tape completely, walking behind his desk to remove a green metal box from one of the drawers. He placed it upon the table, rifling through until he found a white gauze, some alcohol wipes and some thin strips of cotton. Kneeling in front of Haldir, he took his wrist again, wiping it with the alcohol, then gently he set about wrapping the inflamed skin. 

“A year or a day?”

Haldir had known that the question would come. How often did one meet someone who had a number so low? Generally it was met with a feeling of excitement, happy anticipation, however Haldir could not have felt any different. As tired as he was, he would have preferred to spend his day zero alone in a large comfy bed than meeting the love of his life. He watched as Elrond took to wrapping the strips of cotton lightly over his skin.

“A year.”

Elrond did not look at him. He carried on with his task, but he eventually said: “You speak about it as though it is a death sentence.”

Haldir had not expected his tone to give him away so easily. Yet, his sheer exhaustion appeared to have broken down whatever resilience he had regarding his Valar-forsaken number. It felt like a death sentence sometimes. It felt too much to bear. All these years he had waited – had suffered – watching as his friends and family and neighbours, even the citizens of Lothlorien he did not know, were struck with that sudden rush of indescribable love. Knowing how he felt and what he was like, Haldir was certain that he would never feel an overwhelming undeniable attraction to somebody without knowing them first. He could not fathom the notion of falling in love with someone instantly. It did not seem right.

His body felt heavy. Haldir sighed. “Do you know what people say about me? In my own forest, my own home?”

“I confess I do not,” Elrond said softly, tying off the last piece of cotton so that Haldir’s wrist was well-wrapped.

“They say that when I reached majority there was no number. Not even a zero,” Haldir mumbled, rolling down his sleeve to cover his wrist. “They whisper that the Valar have gifted me no one – that I am unlovable. That I am married to Lothlorien, as I should be, given my duty.”

Elrond looked at him then, but Haldir found he was too ashamed to look back at the Lord of Imladris. “But that is false,” he answered.

“That does not matter,” Haldir shrugged. “I don’t know which is worse – knowing that people think the Valar have granted me nothing, or watching as close to seven hundred years counted down, feeling alone and – people pity those whose number is above three hundred. But I had double that – almost triple. My brothers do not even ask me anymore – they just assume like everyone else that the one destined for me is dead, and I will meet them in Valinor.”

Saying it all aloud for the first time unleashed a wave of emotion that Haldir had not expected to feel so deeply. It was possibly from the fatigue of their journey, but he could not stop the tears leaking down his face. It was all so pathetic really. He was ashamed of himself, showing up Lothlorien like this in front of Lord Elrond. 

“Yet your number still counts down?” Elrond asked, packing away his metal box. He still continued to stare at Haldir, but the Marchwarden did not look back.

Instead he nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes furiously. “I apologise, this is not appropriate – I have not slept in days.”

To his surprise, Elrond knelt before him again. He seemed to put himself in Haldir’s eye-line so that it was impossible for him to look anywhere else. He didn’t know what he had expected to see – pity, perhaps – however Elrond did not look at him with anything other than the concern of a healer with his patient. There was something there though, as though he understood something about the situation that Haldir did not. Yet Haldir thought that this was perhaps the same understanding that they all had after they had met the love of their lives, and no doubt Elrond was about to say something akin to what everyone always said to those who had not reached day zero.

“Please, go and take some rest,” Elrond instructed, his eyes searching Haldir’s face. “I promise you, Haldir. Your love will be worth this wait.”


	7. 0

The sun shone gently through the window in Haldir’s talan. It had lost its warmth some time ago, as it begun its slow descent into the ground. Haldir tightened the cloak around his shoulders, fastening it with a delicate silver broach. He checked his rucksack, firmly securing the material closed and knotting the buckle for safe measure. As he exited his talan, he closed the door securely behind him, noting that Lothlorien carried on as she always did. The beautiful weather had meant that many were bustling about. Yet as the sun was beginning to set, they were heading back to their homes for the evening to perhaps eat on their balconies or sit by the walkways to enjoy the last of the sun.

Haldir walked down the steps that curled around the nearest tree trunk to the forest floor. He passed a few people here and there, and they greeted him with the usual respectful friendliness. As he looked at each of their faces, he listed their names in his head. He greeted them back, testing his knowledge of the people he had sworn to protect, the citizens who stayed safe because of his leadership and his men. They stopped him on occasion to attempt to engage him in conversation – some he knew better than others– but he always made his excuses and left hastily. The border was waiting. Lord Celeborn would not be pleased if he found that Haldir was slacking.

He picked up his weapons from armoury, sheathing his sword and hiding a dagger by his inner arm. Slinging his quiver of arrows over his shoulder and sliding the longbow over the other, he hurried towards the stables to borrow a horse. Again, all the faces that passed him were ones that he was familiar with. He said ‘hello’ to each when they said the same to him in turn. It was only polite. 

As he entered into Lothlorien’s grand stable, the head stable-hand was there to greet him already. She had made sure to ready his favourite black mare, Vathiel, who was nickering happily at the sight of him. 

“To the border then, Marchwarden?” she asked, taking his weapons from him so that he could mount his horse swiftly.

“I’m afraid so,” Haldir replied, taking his things from her and settling himself.

“Well,” she said, handing him the reigns, “I hope that it is not a bad shift. May the Valar watch over you.”

She bowed quickly, allowing for Haldir to get on his way. With a quick murmur of thanks, he took off at a steady pace. He wished to reach the border by nightfall, and not just for the element of safety. Luckily, Vathiel enjoyed the pace as they steadily made their way to the talan that Haldir had assigned himself to. It was far removed from the others, not always used due to the fact it covered pathways that were more complicated entries into Lothlorien. Visitors and enemies did not tend to strike there, and Haldir would have preferred a quiet night to be by himself.

After almost an hour of riding, the last fifteen minutes of which he gave Vathiel the chance to gallop and stretch her legs, Haldir finally arrived at the talan he was to spend the night in. He unbridled Vathiel, giving her a grateful pat on the neck for the ride. She nuzzled her nose into the side of his face affectionately. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to her. “You may roam free. If I need you, I will whistle.”

Vathiel seemed to understand him, and she tottered off into the surrounding bushes whilst Haldir climbed the branches of a great mallorn tree to his flet. When he finally reached his home for the next few nights he unloaded his backpack, pulling out the usual first aid kit, a book, his water bottle and some food. Each flet held their own supplies of blankets and pillows for bedding, but Haldir had brought along his own. He felt that this night of all nights he would be grateful for some home comforts. 

As the sky turned from orange to pink, then pink to red and finally red to purple, he sat on the edge of his flet with his weapons laid out should he need them. His bow was within easy reach, but he did not expect to be disturbed here. So he set about reading his book for a little while, but his eyes did not focus on the words on the page. Instead they came to rest on the little square of tape that he had applied for the last time that morning. It was ironic that the very point of the tape was to allow Haldir to escape from the never-ending countdown, yet his brain could think of nothing else. In frustration, he placed his book down, peeling back the tape on his left inner wrist.

0

This was the reason that Haldir had chosen a flet far away from the other Galadhrim soldiers. It was the reason he had volunteered for the extra shift, creating some falsehood to Lord Celeborn about a suspicion he had regarding this particular pathway that led into Lothlorien. There had not been activity in this part for close to two centuries, but Haldir had sworn that he had a feeling about it, and Lord Celeborn had eventually conceded and allowed him an extra few nights to survey the area. In reality, Haldir did not plan on surveying anything. Of course, he would take the watch to keep himself safe – he was not completely assured of this area’s safety – but the solitude would mean he was far away from Caras Galadhon and all of the people whose faces he already knew.

It did not take long for the sun to disappear completely and the moon to illuminate everything in a silvery gloom. Haldir felt his heart sink as the moon rose, but he was also not surprised. He had not met anyone that day who he did not already know or whose face he had not passed a thousand times before. All those centuries he had waited for this day, yet there was no moment of profound recognition as he met the Valar-chosen love of his life. Maybe he was so incredibly unlucky that his number had frozen on day zero, and the love of his life had just died. That seemed like the sort of luck that Haldir always had.

To distract himself, he ate a few bites of the lembas he had brought with him, however it settled uncomfortably in his stomach. The moon was almost at the top of the arc it would follow through the sky. It was nearly midnight. Haldir watched, willing himself not to cry, as the stars twinkled brightly above the canopy of leaves. Then, to his surprise, an unusual sound carried towards him through the forest. He dropped his gaze to the forest floor. His fingers clutched at his longbow, and he silently drew an arrow from his quiver. It happened so quickly that Haldir barely had time to notch his arrow.

A black, poorly-crafted arrow struck the branch beside him with a dull thud. Haldir leapt into action, drawing back his own arrow and firing, as a mangled orc pushed his way through the undergrowth on the forest floor below. Haldir’s arrow hit its mark – directly through the heart – and he waited, another arrow nocked, reading to fire. There had to be more. There was always more than one – orcs never travelled alone.

Yet for a long while, no other sounds came from the forest floor. No further movements caught Haldir’s alert attention. Curious, he grabbed his sword and his dagger, hooking the longbow over his arm and slinging the quiver over his other shoulder as he clambered down the tree. When his feet hit the mossy ground, he paused for a moment, but no further sounds reached his ears. He looked quickly to sky. He could still see the stars, which meant there was no evil cloud to cover a large attacking group. 

Cautiously, Haldir approached the orc he had shot dead. At the foul stench, Haldir held his breath, checking for signs of life and finding none. He turned about, quickly glancing through the pathways, but there was no sign of any others with him. The orc had a gash beneath his right eye, as though he had already been in a skirmish. The wound looked fresh, but knowing how the trees would sometimes protect Lothlorien, Haldir did not think that this was from anything other than a low hanging branch.

“Well,” he mumbled to himself, scoffing, “looks like you may be my day zero lover.”

He almost laughed to himself at his own joke, but settled for a quick exhale of breath through his nose in amusement. Laughter would only expose where he was if the orc had come with others. It was likely that this one had gotten himself lost from his pack. Haldir looked at the orc, with his distorted face and his lifeless eyes, thinking that he had never quite seen anything so ugly in all of his days.

Just as he was thinking about how it was just his luck to have an orc be the only face he had never seen before on his day zero, a sudden burst through the foliage behind him produced another orc, his primitive weapon held high above his head as he sprinted towards Haldir. He barely had time to pull his longbow from his shoulder, when another orc emerged from the bushes. Panicking slightly, Haldir grabbed at his dagger, throwing it with force at the first orc and not waiting to see whether he had stilled before firing an arrow at the second. His dagger had landed in the orcs chest, and the arrow between the other orc’s eyes.

He should whistle, he thought. He should call for the others. Yet something stopped him from doing so. Vigilantly, Haldir waited for further movements, for more orcs to take their chance and strike, his body flushed with adrenaline. He already had an arrow permanently fitted into his bow. Slowly, he walked towards the orc with the dagger in his chest, removing it from his body and wiping off the black blood on the orcs scrappy attempts at clothing. Despite the adrenaline rush, he felt slightly better knowing that he had killed three and not a lone orc. They never travelled alone.

A movement down one of the pathways caught Haldir’s attention. It was another black hooded figure, but Haldir could not see them clearly through the bushes. Stealthily, he kept himself hidden behind the thick trunks of the mallorn trees, following at a distance to see whether he could scope out where they were all coming from. However just as Haldir was within a few metres of the black hooded figure, an orc sprung from the treeline to his right and rushed towards the figure, who within one swift movement of his sword had completely beheaded them. An intruder – for they were not a member of the Galadhrim, and nor were they an orc.

Leaping into the pathway, and drawing back his arrow, Haldir called in the Common Tongue: “State your name!”

The black hooded figure, dropped his sword lower, showing that he was no threat. However the distraction had given another orc his chance, and it came sprinting towards the hooded figure with his crude sword held high. Within seconds the arrow had flown from Haldir’s bow, narrowly missing the shoulder of the hooded figure and landing squarely in the orcs chest. With a dying squeal he hit the floor, and Haldir notched another arrow, pointing it again at the hooded figure who looked behind at the dead orc on the ground. 

“I asked you to state your name!” Haldir warned, his arrow held steady.

“Lord Glorfindel of Imladris,” came the reply in Elvish. “I am sorry – they have been following me since I crossed the mountains. Five of them. I had not –“

Glorfindel dropped the hood of his travelling cloak, and Haldir could finally confirm that he was an elf in the moonlight. His golden hair was ruffled from travelling, and he appeared to be on foot rather than with his horse. Hastily, he put his sword back into the silver sheath attached to his belt, and he approached Haldir slowly. Haldir, however, had not lowered his bow. For some peculiar reason, the Marchwarden was a little frozen in place. 

“I had not thought they would follow me into the forest,” Lord Glorfindel finished. He came to a stop in front of Haldir, pushing his bow to the side.

The movement seemed to trigger something in Haldir that started him moving again. Quickly he placed the arrow back into his quiver, hitching the bow onto his shoulder. There was a strange silence between them, but as Glorfindel had confirmed there were only five orcs, Haldir was not so worried about any more springing from the undergrowth. 

“It does not matter now – they are dead,” Haldir told him, noticing some cuts on Glorfindel’s face. “What happened to you?”

It seemed that Glorfindel was lost in thought, as he shook his head to regain his focus. “Multiple ambushes,” he eventually answered. “It is nothing, really. There were more of them to begin with, but those five were the persistent ones.”

Nodding, Haldir approached the orc on the ground to check that it was dead. When he confirmed it was so, Haldir walked back towards Glorfindel. He was staring at the Marchwarden oddly, but resigned to his duty, Haldir walked past and gestured for him to walk up the pathway.

“Follow me, I have supplies in the talan to fix your wounds. I am Haldir – the Marchwarden of Lorien,” Haldir told him, over his shoulder. A few seconds later, he heard the rushed sounds of Glorfindel following in his wake.

“An honour to finally meet you, Haldir,” Lord Glorfindel replied, with a genuine tone of thanks. 

They walked back to the flet together in the moonlight, the both of them paying attention to their surroundings in case they were to be surprised. Haldir could still feel the adrenaline flooding through his body, but he was well-versed at keeping his emotions in check, especially in battle. It did not take long to emerge into the clearing by the flet, and Glorfindel raised his eyebrows at the three dead orcs scattered on ground. Without waiting, Haldir easily scaled the tree, lighting some candles in the flet whilst Glorfindel entered shortly behind him.

The Marchwarden emptied the large wooden chest in the corner of the flet, pulling out the spare pillows and blankets. He handed them to Glorfindel, who looked at them rather helplessly, as Haldir set about opening the first aid kit. He seemed to be staring at Haldir again, and it was somewhat unnerving. Given that Glorfindel was standing with the blankets looking confused at what to do with them, Haldir relieved him of his burden and made a comfy seat upon the floor. He turned back to the first aid kit.

“You can sit down,” he gestured, and Glorfindel did as he was told. In the candlelight, Haldir could see that Glorfindel’s fine navy tunic was ripped in places, and there was a deep slash at the top of his thigh. 

Catching his eye, Glorfindel looked to his lap. “They are really not so deep. You don’t need to worry.”

Haldir raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “All the same, I need you to remove your leggings. The wound on your thigh looks nasty.”

Upon Glorfindel’s leggings was a large patch of dried blood, and it was clear that the wound on his thigh was still bleeding. Perhaps this was why Haldir had found him without a horse, as the wound would have been uncomfortable enough whilst walking let alone riding. Although they had only just met, Haldir thought that Lord Glorfindel was slightly different to how he had always imagined he would be. The twin sons of Elrond had always described him as bubbly, charismatic, a true hero through and through, but the Glorfindel that sat in Haldir’s flet upon a small pillow and a grey blanket was almost… shy.

He picked at the corner of his slashed leggings awkwardly. “It is nothing. It will heal.”

Exasperated, Haldir sighed. “Remove them – you have nothing under there that I have not seen before.”

Reluctantly, Glorfindel peeled off his leggings, revealing strong thighs with some bruises and the deep gash in question. Haldir unwrapped a flannel of cloth, rolling back his sleeves slightly, and dipping it into some sterile herb concoction before running it gently over Glorfindel’s wound. He jumped a little from the sting, but nevertheless, Haldir continued focussing on his hands which appeared to be shaking somewhat. He could still feel the flood of adrenaline. Perhaps that was causing the strange sensation he felt in his stomach, and why his heart continued to beat a little faster.

Concentrating on his task, Haldir did not notice that Glorfindel had suddenly become very still. Haldir dipped the flannel back into the herb steriliser, running the liquid into the wound in the hopes that it would cleanse it. If Glorfindel was poisoned, there was not much he could do for him here, but the cut was becoming cleaner with every dab of the cloth and Haldir was feeling increasingly satisfied, when suddenly Glorfindel’s hand shot out and grabbed Haldir’s left wrist. The touch made the hairs on Haldir’s arms stand on end.

Roughly, Glorfindel turned over the wrist in his hand. At first Haldir had thought he had perhaps pushed Glorfindel too far, as the steriliser was known to have a nasty sting. But then, his eyes landed on the zero on his wrist, and he tried and failed to wrench his hand back from Glorfindel’s grasp.

“You are at zero,” Glorfindel remarked, his voice sounding stunned.

Panicked, Haldir continued to try to wrestle his wrist back, but Glorfindel’s grip was like a vice. “I am less than zero now,” Haldir stated, hoping that the subject would be dropped.

Glorfindel looked at him intensely then, his face flickering in the candlelight. “How do you know?”

“It is already tomorrow for me,” Haldir told him, looking in the direction of the moon. It had begun its descent already, hinting that it was the early hours of the next day. “I was supposed to meet them yesterday. It does not matter anymore.”

Haldir’s reply meant that Glorfindel finally let go of his wrist. The Marchwarden went back to cleaning Glorfindel’s wound, placing some fresh herbs in a gauze and wrapping it in a bandage. He washed his hands in silence, a strange feeling of violation crept its way through his body. He had only shown Lord Elrond his number after much hesitation – no one had ever grabbed him in such a manner and forced him to show them. Yet, Haldir reminded himself, he had not covered it with tape. He had left it open for the world to see when he had been distracted by those orcs. He had not thought to cover it back up, not even when he had rolled his sleeves to administer first aid. 

A while passed whereby the two elves sat in silence. Haldir put away the first aid kit, and Glorfindel had covered himself in the grey blanket, watching Haldir as he tidied away. Eventually Haldir took a seat by the edge of the flet, looking out onto the forest, his eyes drifting skyward. The moonlight shone upon his face, a reminder that his day zero had passed and there had been nothing but an orc to show for it.

“I am at zero today too. I have not met them either,” Glorfindel broke their silence. Haldir glanced back at him. “In fact, you are the only person I have met all day…”

Surprisingly, Haldir’s heart jumped. The only elf that he had seen today, who he had never met before, was Lord Glorfindel. Could he possibly allow himself to think that Lord Glorfindel, who was a legend amongst their people for his return to Middle Earth, be the one he was destined to meet on day zero? No. The moon had been too high in the sky. The day had ended before he had met Glorfindel – he was certain of it. 

“At the beginning of this year, how many days were you on?” Haldir asked, trying to disguise the myriad of emotions he was feeling.

“186. You?”

It was undeniable then – Haldir felt a surge of adrenaline, a jolt in his stomach as though he had just missed a step going down a staircase. He had begun the year with the same number of days. There could not be a confusion between yesterdays, todays and tomorrows. It must have still been his day zero when they met, even if it had been close to midnight.

“You had the same,” Glorfindel answered for him. “I know it. I can feel it.”

“Yes,” Haldir mumbled, his mouth suddenly dry. “I had the same.”

“Did you feel it earlier? Or was that just me?” Glorfindel asked him, but Haldir kept his eyes trained on the stars. His face felt hot. 

“I assumed it was adrenaline.”

Glorfindel laughed lightly. “I must admit, I thought the same. Trust the Valar to make me meet my soulmate in the middle of a fight.”

Soulmate. Haldir’s could not seem to slow his heart. He had assumed all of this adrenaline was simply due to the surprise of seeing orcs in an area of his forest he had deemed relatively safe. He hadn’t thought for a single second that an adrenaline rush may have been a sign of meeting… well… to use Glorfindel’s term, his soulmate. Was this how it felt to be in love? He did not feel much different. His cheeks were hot, and he was mildly embarrassed, and perhaps his heart was beating a little too fast… but was this love? He did not know.

“I thought I was going to die today,” Glorfindel told him. Haldir turned away from the stars to look back at him. His golden hair hung in his face, as he stared at the zero on his inner left wrist. Haldir could see the number from where he sat – the Lord was not lying. “I have thought all this time that my number was counting down to the day of my death. I think when you have waited as long as I have, you start to think that it’s never going to happen, that something is wrong.”

Their eyes locked, and Haldir could see an intense sadness in Glorfindel. Strangely, it was something that Haldir recognised, as though he had already seen it in himself. Curious, Haldir turned away from the edge of the flet, his whole attention on Glorfindel.

“How long have you waited?”

“Longer than you, I would assume,” Glorfindel said, arranging the pillows behind him and lounging back. He rested an arm behind his head, his eyes fixed on the Marchwarden. “A thousand years, I believe. A little more.”

It was peculiar, but Haldir felt a little better knowing that Glorfindel had waited a ridiculously long time for this too. He didn’t feel so alone in his worry, and as he looked at the famous Balrog Slayer, it was hard to imagine that he had not simply coped with every passing day. It was undeniable that Haldir had struggled through, but knowing that Glorfindel had considered that something was wrong with him too was an intense relief. Smiling, Glorfindel gazed at Haldir with a soft expression. 

“Haldir,” he sighed, his blue eyes suddenly bright in the candlelight. “May I kiss you?”

Haldir did not think he had heard him right. “I’m sorry?”

“To see – you know,” Glorfindel continued, “to see whether you are my soulmate.”

Blushing, Haldir stared down at his hands. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Oh,” Glorfindel grinned, his eyes full of humour, “then how does it?”

Thoroughly embarrassed, Haldir shrugged. “I don’t know. One moment people are normal, and the next they are… changed. I feel much the same, I assure you.”

Or did he? Haldir could not really tell. Everyone else spoke of an intense knowing, an instantaneous love like no other, but all Haldir felt was… a mixture of things. He was confused, a little apprehensive, aware that he should have been keeping an eye on the forest and yet, Glorfindel had this way of keeping him there, dragging his attention away from the stars and Lothlorien in the moonlight. Did he feel love? How did love feel?

“I get the feeling you do not share your feelings so easily, Marchwarden,” he noted, lounging casually on his pillows, his golden hair spilling about. “Well if it is of any interest, I felt it – like a powerful jump in my chest when I saw you. I do not shy away from my feelings, Haldir, no matter how much I may have dismissed this mark in the past.”

Their eyes met again, and the stare between them was so intense that Haldir had to look away. He did not share his feelings easily, that much was true, but that did not mean that he did not feel. Sometimes, Haldir found it hard to connect with his heart. He had spent so long blocking it out, ignoring that number the same as Glorfindel, so that his head had become his reliable substitute. The atmosphere between them was palpable. 

Glorfindel sat up from his makeshift bed. His hand gently pushed some stray strands of Haldir’s silver hair out of his face, tucking them neatly behind his pointed ear. “So you know, I am rather happy with the choice the Valar have made. I hope you are too?”

Haldir flushed pink, though he hoped it wasn’t noticeable in the dark. The candles were burning low now, and the only light left soon would be the moon. 

“A Balrog Slayer? A legend amongst our people?” Haldir muttered, sarcastically adding, “I am not sure the Valar have given me enough.”

Glorfindel smiled broadly, chuckling. “I am not so much of that legendary stuff, I promise.”

The hoot of an owl brought Haldir’s attention back to the forest. He picked up his bow and settled it close to the edge of the flet, along with his quiver full of arrows. Glorfindel was still grinning fondly at him, and Haldir met him with a small smile of his own.

“You should rest,” he told him, shuffling away towards the edge of the flet for a better view of the forest. “I will escort you to Caras Galadhon in the morning.”

“I would like that,” Glorfindel nodded, resting back under his blanket again, comfortable upon his pillows. “I shall ask your Lord and Lady if they can spare you for a few days – you know, to get to know you better. Let me take you on a date.”

“You are assuming I would accept the date,” Haldir replied teasingly.

“Would you not?” Glorfindel smirked, watching Haldir’s stiff back as he refused to look at him. “I will not force you, however.”

After a long pause, Haldir finally answered: “I will think about it.”

He shot a quick glance back at Glorfindel, who laughed softly. There was something endearing in his brashness, a sort of cheekiness that Haldir would have normally found quite off-putting. Perhaps it was because he was on zero that he felt a little different. As he watched Lothlorien for the remaining hours in the moonlight, his heart felt a little lighter. It was remarkable how he felt as though he was breathing properly for the first time in a while, the stress of all that waiting and all those years had gone.


	8. Fading

The little bakery beside Caras Galadhon’s main market square was a quaint shop, with baskets full of freshly baked bread, sandwiches wrapped in beeswax cloth to keep them at their best, and a glass cabinet displaying fruit tarts, cream buns and cinnamon swirls. Glorfindel had spent a while perusing the sweet treats, his mind undecided about which would be the most desired as he would have gladly eaten all of them. However, Lord Glorfindel was not just buying the sweet treats for himself. He reflected for a moment upon the disastrous fact that he did not even know which fruit tart was his soulmate’s favourite, despite the fact they had experienced their day zero more than six years ago now. Glorfindel blamed his lack of knowledge regarding Haldir on the sheer notion that they rarely saw one another, therefore it was hard to build such a strong bond when duties kept them apart.

A pretty elleth strolled over to him behind the counter, and she peered questioningly in his direction. Glorfindel had not even noticed that she had finished serving at least three other customers in the time it had taken him to decide which cake to gift Haldir. Really, it was not such a hard decision. Surely every citizen of Caras Galadhon enjoyed a strawberry tart or a cinnamon swirl or a raisin bun with lashings of thick whipped cream…

“You look as though you are struggling to choose,” the elleth noted, grinning slightly at his inner turmoil. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Glorfindel eyed her carefully. He wished to ask directly about whether Haldir bought his pastries from her, and if so, which one was his favourite. However, they had both decided to keep their soulmate status as quiet as possible. Haldir had firmly stated that he wished for their bond to be kept a secret between them, but Glorfindel had felt the desire to shout his affection for Haldir from the rooftops. He had found it hard to acquiesce to Haldir’s request, thus so far only Lord Elrond was aware that Glorfindel’s zero was Haldir. Somehow, he had returned to Imladris beaming with a certain radiance that could not be hidden from Lord Elrond, and Glorfindel, alight with happiness and excitement that his number had not meant his imminent death, had blurted the secret to his Lord quite readily. Still, he was certain that if Haldir had been asked by Lord Celeborn, he would have admitted much the same.

For this reason, Lord Elrond had made it a yearly occasion to visit Lothlorien. Of course, Glorfindel was glad of this for many reasons, but none more so than the fact he could see Haldir. Yet, the silver-haired elf was often busy, away doing his Marchwarden duties, and there had been a few occasions in which Glorfindel had visited with Elrond and his family to find that he spent the month of their visit without seeing Haldir once. Naturally, the twin sons of Elrond had not batted an eye at the notion that they had suddenly begun annual trips to Lothlorien. They considered it a boon for many reasons: Elladan was given the chance to see Rumil, Elrohir was given the opportunity to train under Haldir to hone his archery skills (if he was around), and Arwen was given the chance to see her grandparents on a regular schedule rather than once in a blue moon.

Deciding that there was no other option, and sick to death of hearing his head go around and around in circles, Glorfindel sighed heavily, asking the girl behind the counter his niggling query. “The Marchwarden,” he started, “does he visit your shop often?”

The elleth nodded, the grin still upon her face. Another customer had just entered the shop with the tinkling of the bell above the door. “He does,” she replied.

Glorfindel nodded too, looking back to the cabinet and trying to act casual. “I will take one cinnamon swirl, and whichever is the Marchwarden’s favourite.”

“His favourite is the strawberry tart,” a voice said behind him.

Glorfindel turned and at first thought that Haldir had joined him in the bakery. However, the elf was slightly taller and leaner than Haldir. He had the same shimmering silver hair and navy blue eyes. Yet, whilst his face held the same features as Haldir’s, they were far softer and rounded in comparison. Glorfindel had met Rumil a few times, but he had never met the third brother of the three Lorien brothers – Orophin. Likewise to his brothers, Orophin was dressed in the grey uniform of the Galadhrim, which blended with colour of the mallorn tree trunks. He walked past Glorfindel towards the elleth at the counter, leaning across to plant a quick kiss upon her cheek as she bound the cardboard box with Glorfindel’s pastries inside using a light blue string.

“I have just wrapped him the strawberry,” the elleth said, clearly Orophin’s other half, as she handed the box to Glorfindel. 

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said, in a voice that suggested he felt more confident than he did. Orophin was looking at him strangely, and Glorfindel was worried that his need to buy the Marchwarden’s favourite pastry would bring up awkward questions, which even though he would have loved to have answered them honestly, would not have put him in Haldir’s favour.

“My brother is only just home,” Orophin told Glorfindel, his eyes still glancing curiously between the box of goods and Glorfindel’s face. He tried to remain as unreadable as possible. “He doesn’t normally welcome visitors when he’s fresh from the border.”

Thinking on his feet, Glorfindel found the lie came quite easily to him. “I understand,” he nodded, resting the box carefully in his left arm to best hide his fading number. “It is merely a ‘thank you’ for taking on some of my warriors for archery training last autumn. I won’t keep him long.”

Orophin seemed markedly less curious once Glorfindel had spun his lie. Technically, the Marchwarden had permitted for fifteen Imladrian warriors to be trained in archery over the autumn period… and technically, the pastry could have been considered a thank you to the Marchwarden for arranging their training and safe journey home. However, in his heart Glorfindel knew he was lying to Orophin. He had simply bought the pastry to get into Haldir’s good books and in some vein attempt to ‘woo’ him as it were. Though Glorfindel was pretty sure that Haldir was not likely to be so easily swayed by a simple cake, he hoped that the gesture alone would earn him some well-deserved brownie points. He did not know a single bonded couple who had not been engaged at most five years after their day zero. He took a quick glance at Orophin’s hand to see a silver ring on his left ring-finger. 

This lie seemed to appease Orophin enough that he started his own conversation with his wife, and so Glorfindel slipped as quietly as he could from the shop. The square outside was heaving with elves going about their business, haggling with market-stall owners, and laden with packages of varying shapes and sizes. Glorfindel hurried through the crowds, acknowledging politely those who recognised and greeted him. After all, it would not hurt to get the residents of Lothlorien on his side – their Marchwarden would hopefully allow for him to express their soulmate bond one day, and he did not want an unfriendly reputation to contend with. 

As he wandered through the trees, Glorfindel felt rather excited to see Haldir for the first time in a while. He had no idea how Haldir would react, but considering his previous visits, he had always been courteous and polished in his manners. Whilst that was charming in its own way, Glorfindel was desperate for some form of affection, something that would clarify whether Haldir saw him in a romantic way or not. In six years, they had never kissed. Not even close. And though Glorfindel could not blame Haldir for his wish to know him first, there was an undeniable pull of attraction that Glorfindel struggled to ignore when he was with the Marchwarden.

As he strolled he spotted a mixture of wildflowers in blues, purples and pinks. They seemed to pave the way to the stairway that led upwards to the talans. Pathways connected the homes in the canopies, and Glorfindel marvelled in the wake of such creative workmanship. Stopping by the staircase, Glorfindel picked a bunch of the wildflowers, clutching them in his hand gently and ascending to the walkways above. Once there he knew where to go. He was hurrying now – so desperate was he to see Haldir after a year of waiting. It was not so long by elven standards, but Glorfindel felt as though it had been a lifetime.

Coming to the right house, Glorfindel knocked upon the door. The whole talan was made from wood and rather large in comparison to his neighbours, but Glorfindel assumed that this was probably due to Haldir’s status as Marchwarden. A few windows faced out onto the walkway, and the house appeared to float amongst the branches that formed its foundation. The levels of the house were uneven, the roof made from wooden tiles in the shape of mallorn leaves and painted a gold to mimic the real thing. The rest of the wood had aged to a silvery-grey, which blended with the branches of the trees that surrounded it too. 

After a few moments, Haldir opened the door. His expression changed from one of apparent exhaustion to surprise at the sight of Glorfindel upon his doorstep. Without waiting for any awkward silences, Glorfindel produced the flowers and handed them to Haldir.

“Afternoon Haldir,” he smiled, noting that the Marchwarden was taking his flowers with a bemused expression. “I thought I would stop by to see you now you are back from the border.”

Haldir gazed at the flowers in his hand, shook his head slightly, and looked back to Glorfindel. “I suppose you had better come in,” he gestured, stepping aside to allow Glorfindel past. “I’m afraid I was not prepared for visitors.”

As Haldir rushed off into his kitchen, no doubt to find a vase for his flowers, Glorfindel wandered around the rest of his talan. His lounge was a few steps lower than the entrance hall. It was large and held three comfy armchairs, a red woven rug, a bookshelf stacked neatly with books in alphabetical order, a coffee table with a few maps scattered upon it haphazardly and windows that looked out upon the branches of the mallorn trees. His Marchwarden gear was piled on the floor by the biggest armchair: his leather satchel, his grey cloak, his longbow and an empty quiver were leant upon the bookcase. 

On the same level as the hallway, there was a dining table with only three seats – no doubt for the three brothers – and set of steps upward led to four doorways that Glorfindel assumed were probably bedrooms and a bathroom. Haldir emerged from the kitchen clutching the flowers arranged in a glass vase. He placed them upon the dining table, and they seemed to brighten up the room immediately. There was a soft rosy glow, a minor blush, upon Haldir’s cheeks. 

“I bought us some pastries too,” Glorfindel informed him, producing the box for Haldir to quickly glance at. “I think I picked one you might like…”

“I’ll get us some plates,” Haldir rushed, turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen. 

Glorfindel hoped that he could make it look as though he had known all along which pastry Haldir would like from his impressive knowledge about the Marchwarden, and not because he had spent ages deciding and finally asking someone for help. He took a seat in one of the armchairs, and soon Haldir had joined him placing two plates upon the maps he had scattered across the coffee table, and opened the cardboard box.

“Which one is yours?” Haldir asked, moving the string aside. 

“The cinnamon,” Glorfindel grinned, watching as Haldir’s cheeks blushed a little again. “I thought you would probably like the strawberry…”

Haldir nodded, though he did not say anything about Glorfindel being right. He served them both in silence, taking a seat in the largest armchair. Now that Glorfindel had a moment to gaze over him, it was clear that Haldir was exhausted. His hair was tied into a messy bun at top of his head, and he wore a cream woollen sweater and the grey leggings of his Galadhrim uniform. The colour palate suited him. Glorfindel felt he looked adorable, but he did not know whether Haldir would appreciate the compliment. 

“The strawberry tart at that bakery is my favourite,” Haldir noted, a few bites into his tart. “Did I tell you that or…?”

Glorfindel seized his moment. “No you didn’t - I had a feeling that you would like that one,” he smiled, not telling the complete truth. “Perhaps it is our connection that strongly told me you would like it.”

Nodding, Haldir finished his tart and placed the plate beside the empty box. He stretched his arms out, yawning slightly, then looked to the pile of stuff that was his travelling gear. He sighed heavily at the sight of it. Glorfindel knew well that feeling. There was nothing worse than dealing with the laundry and cleaning of weapons once you had returned from a mission away from home. Luckily for Glorfindel, the maids usually dealt with his clothing and he was able to draw himself a hot bath and relax at the comforting thought that he was home. However, he doubted that Haldir had such a luxury.

“How was the border?” Glorfindel asked him, wondering whether he could perhaps treat Haldir to a true pampering and run his bath for him. Hopefully he would be invited to join…

Haldir shrugged, yawning again. “Particularly eventful actually,” he paused, repositioning himself more comfortably in the armchair. “I was at the southern border. It is normally more active there for orc activity. I don’t think we slept for days. It was hard to sleep properly as we were awoken regularly to defend the border and those awake on the watch.”

Glorfindel nodded, finishing his own pastry and placing the plate on top of Haldir’s. “Have you managed to have a bath since you have been home?”

“Yes,” Haldir quirked an eyebrow at Glorfindel’s strange question. “Why? Do I smell?”

At that, Glorfindel let out a hearty laugh. “No! No – I always feel refreshed after journeying home by having a hot bath. I could have drawn you one if you would have liked. Provided you would have shown me where the bathroom was first.”

The faint pink blush crept upon Haldir’s cheeks again. Glorfindel could not stop himself from wondering what Haldir would look like fully flushed in the heat of passion, but he kept that nagging image at bay. The Marchwarden was undeniably cute when he blushed. It seemed to warm Glorfindel’s heart.

“My favourite pastry,” he murmured, looking away from Glorfindel, “some lovely wildflowers, and now an offer to draw me a bath. It looks as though you are trying to impress me.”

“Is it working?”

The piercing gaze of Haldir’s navy eyes fell upon Glorfindel and he smiled gently. “Perhaps.”

Despite the fact that this was a reassuring sign, Glorfindel was still not certain where he stood with Haldir. Their meetings following their day zero had been just like this one – some minimal joking, perhaps a little bit of flirting – but they never ventured into the realm of being more than a friendship. It was clear from Glorfindel’s many wicked thoughts, and some of those had led to dreadfully realistic and explicit fantasies in his daydreams, that he felt rather attached and drawn to Haldir. However, Haldir was so professional at keeping his cards close to his chest that Glorfindel struggled to understand whether Haldir really wanted him in that way too. He had deduced this from the very moment he had met him, but he did not think that it would be so hard to pull Haldir from his shell.

Yet Glorfindel had spent so many sleepless nights wondering if Haldir felt that the same, that he had resigned himself to the inevitable chat that would determine whether Haldir saw any longevity in their bond. As much as he had wanted this reunion to be light-hearted and fun, Glorfindel could not shake the thought that he would need to have the talk eventually with Haldir and putting it off would only delay another year of inscrutable letters and incessant wonderings.

“Haldir,” he began, deciding it was best to dive straight in, his throat a little dry, “I think we need to have a talk about this, and our bond, and well – where we go from here.”

It was evident from Haldir’s facial expression that he was a little taken-aback. “Ok,” he answered uncertainly.

Glorfindel sighed, wondering where to start. “In the time I have known you, I have felt my bond grow and I think I am very much aware that I have fallen in love with you. Or, in the very least, in lust,” the blush darkened again across Haldir’s cheeks. “I apologise for not being quite so forward. I have not wished to rush you, or force you to have any emotions that you believe you should feel because everyone else does. I know we have both waited so long for this bond and for our soulmate, but I confess that I find you hard to read and I am not sure whether you feel the same way.”

Before Haldir could remark, Glorfindel finished: “Forgive me, I know it sounds so selfish for me to expect you to feel something. I have waited ages for you, and it seems rather silly that I am struggling six years out from our day zero to keep my emotions in check.”

Haldir nodded, pushing a few flyaway strands from his bun out of his face. He was still a little flushed from Glorfindel’s confession. He repositioned himself a few times in his armchair, as though trying to work out the most comfortable way to say what he was feeling. From his silence, Glorfindel’s hopes were becoming steadily dashed with each passing moment. Eventually, Haldir looked at him. He bit his lip slightly, fiddling with the sleeves of his woollen jumper.

“I, erm,” he stuttered, fidgeting again. “I do feel things for you. I enjoy having you here.”

In contrast to Glorfindel’s declaration of love, Haldir’s answer fell rather flat. 

“But you do not love me?” Glorfindel supplied for him. “At least, not yet?”

“No!” Haldir replied immediately. “I do… I am… I am not sure what it feels like to be in love, so I guess I am finding it hard to place how I feel. These emotions are new to me, and I’m trying to understand them, get to know you, deal with my duties as Marchwarden, keep this all under the radar with two very nosey brothers –“

“I understand,” Glorfindel nodded, though he could not shake the thought that Haldir could not open up to him still, after six years of getting to know one another. If he did not know how he felt now, would he ever know in future? 

“Perhaps…” Haldir started, but his eyes glazed over a little, and his thought seemed to die upon his lips.

“Perhaps what?” Glorfindel answered, trying his hardest not to dismiss Haldir’s previous statement about trying to understand his feelings. 

“I’ll just –“

In a fluid movement that took Glorfindel by surprise, Haldir had risen from his armchair and straddled Glorfindel on his. He leant down, sealing their mouths together in a gentle kiss. The intensity grew rather quickly. Soon Haldir's body was pressed against his, and Glorfindel was frozen in place. However shocked and elated he may have felt, the kiss seemed to have opened the floodgates to a thousand dirty thoughts. He tried to remember a time when a kiss had made him feel so hot and bothered, as Haldir’s hands knotted into his golden hair and their kiss deepened. It felt strange – wonderful, but strange. Glorfindel’s whole body felt aflame. Even when Haldir pulled away from him, he sat there dazed and looked at Haldir’s dark navy eyes. His pupils were dilated with lust, his cheeks back to their flushed pink, his lips red from the kissing.

“- show you?”

Wrapping his arms around Haldir’s waist, Glorfindel stood effortlessly from the seat carrying Haldir with him. “Which room?”

Haldir smirked back in response. “The third on the left.”

Glorfindel hurried with Haldir up the stairs to the bedrooms, marginally distracted by the way the Marchwarden was sucking on his pointed ear, determined to make up for six lost years since their day zero.


	9. Faded

When Glorfindel finally opened his eyes, the sun was streaming through the thin white curtains into their room. He could hear the distant rush of water as it rushed over the falls of the valley of Imladris. The sound was soothing - Glorfindel could not remember the last time he had slept so wonderfully. It was odd for Glorfindel to have another in his bed nowadays, but the warmth of his lover beside him settled a comfortable feeling into his soul. This felt natural. It felt right. It was a shame that he could not wake up every morning with Haldir beside him. Alas, the Marchwarden was only visiting Imladris for a few short weeks. His visit was a gift from Lady Galadriel for finally admitting to his Lord and Lady that the recurrent visits from Glorfindel to Lothlorien were not a startlingly good friendship, but a soul bond connection. As such Glorfindel had tried his hardest to fit in every waking moment with Haldir that he could, but duties would always come between them, and no matter how gracious Lord Elrond was to allow for him to shirk many of these duties temporarily to Erestor or the twins, it still did not give Glorfindel enough time with his soulmate.

Haldir faced the window. The soft sunlight illuminated his peaceful face as he dreamed. His silver hair seemed to glimmer on the white cotton pillows of Glorfindel’s bed. He slept soundly, unaware that Glorfindel was awake beside him, watching the steady rise and fall of his bare chest as though hypnotised. Gently, so as not to wake him, Glorfindel tucked his unbound hair neatly behind his perfectly pointed ear and placed a light kiss there for good measure. Although he had spent centuries doubting his soul mark - that damned countdown - the Valar could not have matched him with a more perfect being. It had perhaps taken them a little longer to fully come into their own as a couple. At first, Glorfindel had been frustrated by Haldir's inability to share how he felt, but as the years had passed, he found that Haldir could be just as forthcoming with his emotions though he struggled to name them sometimes.

Naturally, as always happened whenever he was around Haldir, Glorfindel found himself becoming aroused at the sight of Haldir’s naked body asleep under the thin cotton sheet of his bed. No other set him alight as quickly as Haldir, and no other did he consistently yearn for. They had passed the time the night before wrapped in each other’s arms and making up for the lost time between their last meeting. It usually ended up this way. They both did not want to waste the opportunity, and Haldir was not one for long speeches of romance. He preferred to be shown affection, and to show it in return, than to spend hours pondering over poems and letters declaring their unconditional love for each other. 

Their duties would change with time, Glorfindel mused to himself, his eyes trailing the curves of the Marchwarden’s defined muscles. Upon the smooth curves of his ass, Glorfindel smirked to himself at sight of a red mark that was the perfect match of his hand. Unable to resist, Glorfindel brushed his hand lightly over the soft curve of Haldir’s ass, as if to sooth the physical reminder of their spanking session the night before. If their duties did change, and by some unforeseen reason Lord Elrond allowed him to venture off elsewhere, Glorfindel would head straight for Lothlorien so that he could be with Haldir.

His hand continued its exploration of Haldir’s body, delighting in the lines of his thighs, his stomach and finally coming to rest effortlessly on his hip. The sensation had appeared to disturb Haldir’s restful sleep. He unconsciously moved, pushing his ass closer to his lover, and his chest was rising and falling at a more rapid pace than Glorfindel had observed earlier. Relishing in Haldir’s response, and wondering what dreams he had stirred in Haldir's mind, Glorfindel let his fingers creep lightly towards Haldir’s cock, wrapping it within his palm and slowly pumping it.

“I don’t like waking up so hot and bothered,” Haldir grumbled, but the satisfied, lazy smile on his face gave him away. His eyes were still closed, his body relaxed.

“Would you rather I stopped?” Glorfindel asked him, planting a gentle kiss upon his cheek.

Rolling over to face his lover, Haldir opened his eyes – his eyes dark with lust. “Never.”

Chuckling, Glorfindel captured Haldir’s lips in a passionate kiss. He had always found that there was an instinctiveness with Haldir, which he had not felt with any of his previous lovers, whereby he knew exactly where to touch, how hard to press and squeeze, or how fast or slow to take it. His morning ministrations had left Haldir eager and wanton. When they broke apart from their kiss, his silver hair was ruffled, his eyes the colour of twilight, and the thin cotton sheet had crept so low that it threatened to expose him completely. Glorfindel loved it when he looked so debauched, because Haldir spent so much of his public life so straight-laced that Glorfindel relished in seeing this unbound side to him. There was a marked level of satisfaction in knowing what Haldir was like behind closed doors.

“Don’t tease me,” Haldir whispered, a pleading tone to his voice. “I cannot take that this morning.”

Obliging, as always, Glorfindel swiftly positioned himself between Haldir’s legs, stroking himself for no real reason as he was already unbearably hard. In order to show just how desperate he was for Glorfindel to hurry up, Haldir spread his legs wide, lifting his knees up to allow his lover better access. Not wanting to waste any time, and knowing that Haldir would be able to handle it, Glorfindel spat into his hand, rubbing his saliva on the end of his cock and clumsily at Haldir’s entrance. The feeling left Haldir whimpering under his breath, his head thrown back into the white pillows.

Glorfindel entered him swiftly, setting an immediate, fast pace that he knew his lover could handle. His thrusts were steady and deep, and as with everything that he did with Haldir, he instinctively found his sweet spot. The pair kissed messily, their contented moans were muffled in the midst. When they pulled apart, Haldir looked so thoroughly stimulated that it simply aroused Glorfindel even further. In the soft sunlight, it was obvious at these moments why Glorfindel felt so overwhelmingly in love with this elf. He had his eyes closed tightly, a frown of frustration at his mounting climax that wasn't coming fast enough, his dark eyelashes touching his flushed cheeks.

Feeling his own climax building, Glorfindel took Haldir’s left wrist in his hand, bringing the long-faded zero to his lips and leaving a kiss upon it.

“Haldir, look at me,” Glorfindel commanded, taking his lover in hand.

Although lost in the sensations of their fucking, Haldir obeyed. His eyes were almost black with lust, and the intensity of his look was all it appeared to take for Glorfindel to spill inside him. A few moments later, Haldir followed him, biting on his wrist to stifle his low moan as his cum covered Glorfindel’s hand. 

“I love you,” Haldir mumbled, sounding exhausted and fully sated. 

Glorfindel laughed lightly, planting a peck on his flushed cheek. “I love you too.”

One day, Glorfindel thought to himself, he would ask Haldir to bond with him. But it would not be now – not on Middle Earth. Perhaps in Valinor, when their duties no longer meant that they would have to suffer being apart. As he washed his hand in his bathroom sink, Glorfindel grinned at his own flushed face in the mirror. Once he had thought he would never meet his soulmate, that those who had were simply blinded by a honeymoon period in their relationship. Yet when he had met Haldir, he found that perhaps he could spend forever with someone – and even then, forever did not seem enough.

Glorfindel had a written him a note, as he always did, so that when he was alone on the borders of Lothlorien he could read about just how missed and loved he was. It was hard for them to be apart, and most of Glorfindel’s letters had expressed this opinion. Yet this time, Glorfindel had gone for something altogether different. He had hoped that Haldir would like it but he would not know until a few weeks’ time, when Haldir would sit in his watch talan in the moonlight and remind himself of how far away from his lover that he was.

***

_Dearest Haldir,_

_You are home now, and know that I miss you terribly. I hope that you feel much the same way, yet simultaneously, I hate the thought of you pining for me. I am certain you miss me. How could you not miss this smile?_

_Recently, on your last visit to Imladris, I think I have come to realise why the Valar have placed us together. You see, through all my life, I have spent time with people I was adamant that I was in love with. Each flirted with me, each filled me with lust, and each was extroverted, outgoing and led by their hearts. However, despite all those before you, what I thought I wanted was not who I should have been with. I see now that I was terrible at choosing people who were nothing but infatuations. They were not moments of love in the way that I see love now._

_You are headstrong, smart, logical – lead by your head, not your heart. You are introverted and quiet in a way that I most certainly am not, and you prefer those small moments of affection than my preferred grand displays of love. In our time together, I have come to learn that you balance me. You reign in my wild, untamed spirit. You prefer to show me love through small kisses behind doors, cleaning my weapons when I am tired, leaving me sweet notes when I wake up late – by the way, I have undoubtedly found the one you will have left before your departure from Imladris by now. I thank you in advance for it._

_My idea of affection would be to parade you around Imladris – or Lothlorien – in fact, Middle Earth, and show all how lucky I am to be with one such as you. I would shower you with gifts, kiss you senseless in the street, hold your hand through formal dinners – but you would never allow this. I had thought all my life that I wanted someone who would, yet I understand now that I was wrong. Perhaps in Valinor. Would you allow me one public kiss when we have sailed?_

_Still, I have learnt that love is something to be cherished, that it grows over time. It is not always in grand gestures, but it is most undoubtedly present in every little moment we have shared. I know you did not feel instantaneous love for me, not in the way that people had described reaching zero would be, and I felt that too. However, now… well… now I could not imagine how I spent all those centuries waiting for you._

_You are the moon to my sun. The silver to my gold. I miss you terribly, Haldir. Permit me to tell you, once more, that I love you._

_Always,_

_Glorfindel.  
(The Balrog Slayer, Legend of Middle Earth)_

_The Valar could not have blessed me with more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates for you all tonight as I have to confess I've been terrible at updating so apologies for that! I actually fly to the other side of the world in a few hours, so I have rushed to get these up for you in order for you to read the conclusion to the story (there is nothing worse than an unfinished story)! 
> 
> Please leave me comments - I would love to read what you thought about this fic as and when I can get wifi! Thank you to all who have followed since the first chapter. You kept me going! :)


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